The Hunter
by PennyOfTheWild
Summary: She swore she would remain ever chaste. Her decision never bothered her ... until she met him. The story of Artemis and Orion the Hunter.
1. Constellations

**Author's Note:** Based on an actual myth ... but I took a lot of liberties with it ... do tell me if you like this first chapter, and if I should continue :)

**Chapter One - Constellations**

"I do solemnly swear to follow thee, Lady Artemis, in all thy endeavors. I do swear to be faithful to thee, and to abide by the laws of eternal maidenhood. I hereby do swear, under binding oath, to forgo the company and pleasures of men. May the wrath of the Moon be upon me if I should fail."

Artemis gazed down upon the young woman kneeling before her, head bent, dark tresses flowing down her back, and she felt a dull throb in her heart.

"I do ache for thee, Zoë Nightshade," she murmured softly.

The Huntress stood, her face a mask of clam and serenity. Only the slightest of flickers in her dark, almond-shaped eyes betrayed the emotions ravaging her heart. Artemis softened her expression, smiling with genuine happiness.

"It is with gladness that I welcome thee, Zoë," she said, embracing the Huntress. "I know that thou shall serve me well." _For thou have suffered as I have suffered … for that, I do ache for thee, Zoë Nightshade._

Artemis stood at the crest of the hill overlooking the Huntress's tents. The full moon smiled down at her from its perch, bathing the forest in a pale, silvery glow. The blackness of the sky seemed to recede from around it; the tiny pinpricks that were stars seemed to have been eclipsed by it.

She raised her face to the sky, eyes scanning the heavens. They alighted on a group of stars, and she blinked furiously, trying to keep back the tears that welled up. She bit down on her lip, hard, and tasted ichor, and her eyes spilled over, tears mingling with the ichor oozing from her lip, the sweetness mixing with the salt.

A gust of wind ran its breezy fingers through her auburn hair, caressing her cheeks, drying her tears, swirling her skirts.

Above her, the three stars in the belt of Orion the Hunter shone, an immortal tribute, a constant heart-ache. Artemis slid to the ground, clasping her knees to her chest, eyes staring out into the distance. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." The wind snatched the words from her lips, hurtling them carelessly away.

_Three Years Previously – Winter_

Fresh fallen snow blanketed the forest floor. Feathery flakes swirled downwards, drifting on the wind, settling in her hair, coating her lashes. She didn't move, not even when a burst of wind blew a flurry of snow into her face, ice-cold pinpricks stinging her skin. She was stillness itself.

A huge fir concealed her as she stood, bow at the ready, arrow already notched. Her eyes were fixed on a large, gray-black hulk that stood, motionless, in the middle of a clearing, less than a hundred feet ahead of her. Its large, curved horns rose threateningly upwards, the points ominously sharp. Taurus, the bull. Within arrow-reach for the first time in the two months she had been pursuing it.

Artemis lifted her bow, drawing the bowstring as far as it would go, angling the arrow carefully. The slightest of movements caught her eye. A figure appeared several feet to her left, stepping carefully to the edge of the clearing, notching an arrow. He plied the bow expertly – his appearance subtly suggested weeks spent out in the open – his stance matched her own.

She lowered her bow, a frown creasing her brow. Her presence was as yet unacknowledged. She idly wondered if she should loose her arrow, or allow this mortal to bring down the bull – a difficult task for even as proficient an archer as her. Taurus was armored – the only weakness in his defenses was at the back of his neck – an exposed patch of skin a few centimeters wide. One shot – for if not felled the first time, the bull would bolt, and it was fleet of foot, as the length of time it had evaded her had proven.

She had been tracking the animal for two months … Artemis shook her head, and started to raise her bow.

With a sudden, graceful movement, the stranger lifted his weapon and let loose his arrow. It sped towards the bull with unnatural speed, the point burying itself in Taurus's neck. The animal bellowed, a low, rumbling sound that made the tops of the trees quiver, sending piles of snow onto the ground. The bull sank onto its knees, eyes rolling, as its life bled away. The hunter advanced, slinging his bow onto his back, pulling a knife from his boot. He knelt by the bull's side, and with a quick, painless stroke, slit its neck. The bull shuddered and was still. The hunter pulled his arrow free of the bull, wiping it clean and returning it to his quiver.

It was a shot in a million, Artemis thought, admiration for the hunter blossoming in her heart, despite her efforts to quell it.

The hunter lifted the bull's head, gazing into the glassy, lifeless eyes, an amused smile twisting his face.

"You led a merry chase, old boy," Artemis heard him say, a fond note in his voice. "But no one escapes Orion the Hunter."

He seemed to realize then that he was being watched, for he stiffened, and setting the bull's head down, looked straight at Artemis. She felt a chill go down her spine as his gray eyes met hers. _Orion the Hunter._

_Review ... please?_


	2. Respect and Coincidences

**A/N:** Thank you for all the reviews! You guys are the best :D I wasn't going to update this quickly - but your reviews made my muse stick around a little longer ... and I'm going out of city for three days, and I couldn't make you wait that long, so here it is! Do tell me if you like it!

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**Chapter Two – Respect and Coincidences**

_Late Summer – Mt. Olympus_

"Artemis, thou are _such_ a bore." The high, musical voice of Aphrodite rang in Artemis's ears. Artemis raised her eyes to Aphrodite's face. She looked, as usual, ravishingly lovely. Her blonde hair fell in ringlets, framing a pale, heart-shaped face – her nose was small, and turned up the tiniest bit – her mouth was full, and her eyes, surrounded by long, curling lashes were like glittering sapphires. Artemis hated her.

"Even Athena enjoys herself on occasion, but thee …" Aphrodite's voice trailed off, as Artemis looked to where Athena was dancing with a minor deity.

The palace hall was packed. Gods, goddesses, demigods, and even a few favored mortals mingled, raising glasses and swaying to the music. The air vibrated with seemingly endless peals of laughter – high, deep, musical … Satyrs drifted amongst the company, carrying salvers of nectar and wine … nymphs batted their lashes flirtatiously and mortal and immortal alike …

Artemis frowned as she caught sight of Opis, her lieutenant, smiling into the face of a young man, who gaped down at her, utterly bewitched. Aphrodite followed her gaze.

"Oh, Artemis," she sighed, exasperated. "Let her enjoy herself." Her tone was that of a lecturing mother, reprimanding an errant daughter on her apparent lack of common sense. " 'Tis only a bit of fun." Artemis's jaw clenched. "So thou calls it fun, then," she said through gritted teeth, "to break hearts?"

Aphrodite tutted, her blue eyes hardening. "If only thou _tried_ enjoying thyself –"

"I have sworn a vow of chastity," Artemis cut her off irritably.

"As has Athena," said Aphrodite, annoyance flickering on her brow. "It doesn't seem to have stopped _her_, now, has it?"

Artemis pursed her lips, stood, and strode past Aphrodite, approaching Opis. She took hold of the lieutenant's arm. The huntress shot an apologetic look at her companion, turning to Artemis with a mixture of guilt and suppressed irritation on her face.

"Opis," Artemis hissed. "What are thou doing?" The huntress blushed, color suffusing her pallid cheeks. " 'Tis only a bit of fun, Lady Artemis," she mumbled, unknowingly echoing Aphrodite's earlier words. Artemis heaved a sigh, her breath leaving her mouth with a low 'whoosh'.

"Come not back to me when thou have been betrayed," she muttered, and retreated to her corner, aware she was being overly theatrical, and wondering whether she should revise her earlier decision to let the Huntresses enjoy themselves at parties – they seemed to be abusing the privilege. Artemis sank back in her chair, staring moodily down at a glass of nectar she had picked up off a passing satyr's tray. She never knew what to do at merry-makings. She felt more comfortable at summits and the like.

She tried shutting out the sounds of revelry, envisioning herself in the woods, examining the tracks of a stag …

"Ah, little sister," a loud, raucous voice interrupted her reverie, just as she had loosed her imaginary arrow. Artemis scowled up at the grinning face of Apollo, looking irritatingly dashing as he strode towards her, parting the crowd as though it were the Red Sea, drawing the eyes of every female in the hall. He was followed by another man – by the looks of it he was going to introduce her. Artemis muttered a few choice oaths under her breath. _Twin __sister, brother, __twin__ sister. _

"Apollo," she said out loud, struggling to keep her voice level as she smiled, aware of Zeus's warning glare.

Upon reaching her, Apollo made a great show of embracing her tightly, smiling all the while. Despite herself, Artemis felt an involuntary smile curve her lips. Apollo was so – unrestrained. He held her at arm's length, lips pursed disapprovingly as he looked her up and down.

"You aren't looking well, Artemis," his voice was uncharacteristically serious. "Are thou well? Tell me who has been bothering thee – I'll sort them out –" Artemis shook her head. "I can take care of myself, brother," she smiled reassuringly. _You know that_.

"I know that," Apollo muttered, adding something inaudible under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing of consequence," Apollo grinned innocently down at her. "What was it that I heard about thy going to Crete?"

Artemis's brow creased, but she decided to let it go. "Father wishes me to hunt the Manticore," she answered. "The mortals of Crete have asked for deliverance from the monster."

"Ah," Apollo did not sound the least bit surprised. "You were right," he said, addressing the young man beside him. He turned back to Artemis. "He is a hunter," he informed her. "He wishes to accompany thee on thy _quest_. I did tell him it might be the last hunt he ever sets off on -"

Artemis shook her head. "Apollo, thou knows I cannot –" she broke off as the man stepped forward, kneeling in front of her, lifting a pair of steel gray eyes to her face.

"Lady Artemis," he breathed, his tone reverent. Artemis froze. "I wish to accompany thee," he continued earnestly. "I am Orion, son of Poseidon." _Orion the Hunter._

"You," Artemis gasped. "You are the hunter who brought down the bull!" A myriad of conflicting emotions surged through her – wonder, irritation, regret, admiration. The look of reverence on Orion's face increased, if it were possible. "You were there," he said, as if speaking to himself. "You were the Huntress I saw …"

Above his head, Apollo gave Artemis a quizzical look, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his tumbled thatch of blond hair. Artemis ignored him. Orion repeated his request.

Artemis fingered her chiton, biting her lip. The hunter would probably prove to be an invaluable asset … but he was a man, and Artemis hated men – or so she told herself. She conjured up a mental image of Leto, her mother, and the heart-broken look on her face as Zeus banished her from Olympus – Hera's vindictive, victorious smile …

Her eyes cleared and she found Orion still kneeling in front of her, agate eyes shining

with hope, admiration, respect …

The last emotion caught Artemis off guard. _He respects me_, she thought. Artemis was used to being looked at – although she was no where as beautiful as Aphrodite, her fiery auburn hair and emerald eyes attracted enough lustful, covetous looks to firmly cement her theory that males – be they mortal or immortal, were animals. She dispelled the thought almost immediately, _of course he does._ _You are a goddess, are you not?_ But not before she had registered and understood the sentiment. _He respects me._

"You may," she said, gesturing for him to stand, and stopped. What had she said, exactly? The pure gratitude that flashed across the demigod's face, and Apollo's look of stunned surprise, answered that question, and Artemis groaned internally._ Stupid, stupid girl._

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**A/N:** I've set the story extremely early - Artemis is a very young goddess in this, so she is relatively inexperienced, and not as level-headed as she later becomes. But do tell me if she gets too out of character. And review, please!


	3. Greetings and Farewells

**A/N:** This is more of a filler than an actual chapter ... I'm sorry it's so short; I felt it was necessary - I'll try and make up for it by having the next chapter up in a few days! I'd like to thank all of you who reviewed - it's very motivating - and I'm much obliged to you. You all rock!

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**Chapter Three – Greetings and Farewells**

_Crete – the House of Leto_

Artemis was welcomed with open arms by her mother's household. Leto embraced her daughter tightly, imploring her to stay a while, and immediately agreeing to put up the Huntresses while Artemis hunted the Manticore.

"Do stay for some time, dear," Leto murmured into Artemis's ear. "It's been so long since thou visited me!"

Artemis looked into her mother's sweet, tired face. Grief had carved wrinkles into Leto's eternally youthful visage – sorrow had painted gray into locks that were never meant to age.

"I cannot stay, Mother," Artemis said, guilt plaguing her heart. Leto sighed, nodding understandingly. She turned, leading her daughter into the foyer, where the Huntresses still stood at the foot of the grand staircase, glancing around the resplendent hall a little awkwardly.

Artemis smiled reassuringly at them, gesturing for Opis to come forward. The lieutenant stumbled as she advanced, her eyes were elsewhere; Artemis followed her gaze to where Orion stood, leaning against a pillar, stroking the fletching on one of his arrows. Artemis gritted her teeth. "Opis," she called. The huntress flushed guiltily, refusing to meet Artemis's eyes.

"Yes, my Lady?" she said tonelessly.

"I leave thee in charge of the maidens," Artemis said. Opis looked up.

"We are not to accompany thee, my Lady?" she asked, disappointment coloring her tone. Artemis could have sworn she saw the lieutenant's eyes flicker towards Orion.

"No," she said, a little more sternly than was absolutely necessary. "The Manticore is a dangerous beast – the maidens are still inexperienced, and I would not have them put in harm's way." Opis bit her lip. Artemis could almost see the gears turning in the lieutenant's head, searching for reasonable arguments. There were none; she bowed her head, silently admitting defeat, murmuring, "Yes, my Lady."

Leto clapped her hands, and a satyr appeared, bowing. "Show the maidens their rooms," Leto commanded, and the satyr started up the stairwell, followed by the Huntresses.

"Orion," Artemis said. "Mother has offered us the use of her horses –"

The hunter nodded. "I will see to them immediately, my Lady."

The front door clanged softly as it shut behind him, and Leto smiled knowingly at Artemis. "He has the mark of a true hero," she remarked. Artemis frowned exasperatedly. Even her own mother - !

"Mother, I have –"

"Taken a vow of chastity, I know," Leto interrupted her, sighing deeply. "Let not my misfortune rob thee of the chance to live fully."

"Mother, he is mortal," Artemis snapped.

"And handsome," Leto's eyes twinkled.

"Mother, I am not to be swayed."

"Indeed. You posses a strange determination. But time wreaks changes even in the stoutest of hearts. You are young, daughter –"

"Nearly a hundred years is young, Mother? Amongst mortals I would be a bent old crone – nay, I would be stiff in my grave."

"Thy words betray thy youth, Artemis," Leto said gently. "I mean only well –"

"Yes, Mother, I know." Artemis dropped a kiss on Leto's cheek. "But trust me. It is better for me this way."

She glanced at the window, beyond which the sun glowed yellow; the sky shone crimson. "I must go, Mother," Artemis said, kneeling before Leto. "Have I thy blessing?" Leto ran a hand over her daughter's tumbled, red-gold locks. "You do," she said. "Go in peace." Artemis rose, nodded at Leto, and walked towards the door, gathering her cloak around her.

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**A/N**: Do review - constructive criticism, suggestions, complaints, and so on. Pretty please?


	4. Of Messengers and Travelers

**A/N:** Thank you all for the reviews! You all rock XD So, this is a loong chapter (1605 words) . I hope you enjoy it. Do be sure to tell me what you think!

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**Chapter Four – Of Messengers and Travelers**

The sky burnt a vivid orange – the sun was a glowing yellow orb, scarlet around the edges. A late summer breeze ruffled the tops of the olive trees in Leto's grove. Artemis stood in front of the manor, the paving stones warm under her bare feet, clasping her bow.

Two saddled horses, one bay, one snow-white, tossed their heads a little ahead of her, snorting restlessly. The hunter was kneeling next to the horses, stroking the ears of a great black dog and listening intently to some obscure tale the horses were telling him. His slightly overlong, un-kept black hair waved gently in the wind – his gray eyes were warm – a smile hovered on his lips. Artemis found herself agreeing with her mother, albeit reluctantly – Orion _was _handsome, in a rugged, out-doorsy sort of way. She shook her head, putting the thought aside immediately.

Slinging her bow over her shoulder, she made her way towards the horses – who cut short their story at once, lapsing into respectful silence. The hunter got to his feet. "Lady Artemis," he nodded. To the dog, he muttered, "Down, Sirius!" The animal stopped pawing him. Artemis inclined her head. "The Manticore was last seen near a village west of here," she said, swinging herself into the white mare's saddle. "It is a wily beast. One of Echidna's most feared sons. Are thou certain thou art capable?" _Say no … please, say no._

"I believe I am," Orion said, mounting the bay. Artemis kept her face impassive. "Very well," she said brusquely, and a flicker of uncertainty, followed by amusement, crossed her companion's face. Gritting her teeth, she jabbed the mare's flank; the horse snorted in protest, lunging into a canter.

The moon was high in the heavens when the horses clattered to a stop in front of the Dying Huntsman, an inn off the main square of the village. They had entered the village just before the gate-keeper had shut the gates for the night, and had asked him for directions to the only tavern. The village seemed desolate – the tiny, cobblestone streets were empty, and no windows were illuminated – not a candle burnt. The signboard hanging over the Dying Huntsman's door creaked, swaying gently as the wind rocked it back and forth on its hinges. Orion dismounted, raising a fist and thumped soundly on the inn door. He glanced at the grim depiction of a hunter with an arrow protruding from his forehead painted onto the sign and made a face.

"Nice," he remarked. Artemis smiled slightly.

"Bodes well for us, does it not?"

He threw her a glance. "You are a goddess, my lady."

She looked at him, her forehead creasing slightly, lines furrowing an ageless brow. "But I do not dictate the Fates, now, do I?" She kept her tone light, trying to stay the bitterness that threatened to seep into her voice. _If only …_

He looked as though he might question her, but at that moment, the door opened a crack, and lantern-light spilled onto the street. The innkeeper, dressed in a long white nightshirt, his feet bare, peered furtively at them – the little that could be seen of his portly, bearded face appeared anxious and worried. "Yes?" His tone was cautious.

"We wish to stay the night," Artemis said, gracefully alighting from the mare and coming forward. The innkeeper looked scandalized – most probably at the fact that it was she who had spoken. _Mortal men_, Artemis thought, wishing she could incinerate the man there and then. He seemed to appraise them for a moment; his visible eye took in their black cloaks, the restless, noble-looking horses, the bows and quivers of arrows slung over their shoulders, the knife at Orion's belt. A spark of apprehension glimmered on his face. Artemis frowned, and snapping her fingers, said reassuringly, "We mean thee no harm."

The innkeeper's face cleared, and he opened the door wider, rustling threshes laid on the floor. "Can never be too careful," he explained, ushering them in. Artemis looked distastefully at the dry, rotted leaves littering the greasy floor as she stepped over the threshold. "Especially with these disappearings." The innkeeper seemed to be of the garrulous sort – but she wasn't complaining, not while he was giving her the information she wanted. "Two bodies were found three days ago … women, both of them. Last seen with a stranger I had the misfortune to shelter under this very roof! Never found the rest…"

"Where were the bodies found?" Artemis asked.

"In the forest, north of the main gate."

"And have there been any more disappearances? Since three days ago?"

"No, thank the gods," the innkeeper looked curiously at Artemis. "You seem very interested –"

"Will someone be seeing to the horses?" Orion interjected.

The innkeeper nodded. "I'll be seeing to them personally, sir. I usually have a boy to do these things, but if thou does not mind my saying, sir, it is late …" He disappeared behind the tavern counter – Artemis heard him muttering as he displaced various grimy bottles and cases.

Glancing at Artemis, as if looking for approval, Orion leaned over the counter, saying, "We would prefer two rooms, if thou have them." Artemis half-smiled to herself. The innkeeper emerged, dusty and disheveled, clutching an equally grubby key. "Two rooms?" he inquired, a faint note of surprise evident in his voice, looking from Artemis to Orion. Artemis felt a twinge of annoyance. "Yes," Orion said, adding, "She is my sister," when the innkeeper continued to look utterly bewildered.

Comprehension dawned on the man's face, followed by regret. "I'm afraid there is only one room available, sir," he said apologetically, pushing the key towards them with the confidence of a man owning the only public house in the area. Artemis picked it up, unable to keep the revulsion out of her expression. He lifted his lantern, leading them to a half-hidden flight of stairs, saying, "First door on the left. Will thou be paying now?" He addressed Orion, Artemis noticed with growing irritation. Mortals and their beliefs! Women were not half as weak as they made them out to be.

"Let me," she said, stepping forward and dropping a few silver drachmas into the innkeeper's palm. Wide-eyed, the man muttered a thanks and went towards the door, presumably to put up the horses, threshes crackling loudly beneath his feet.

The corridor between the rooms was dark, and unnaturally cold. Artemis suppressed a shiver. "It's colder than Hades," Orion remarked, blowing on his fingers as she unlocked the door. Artemis did not deign to reply to this, choosing instead to remove the key from the lock and push open the door.

The room was small, even by mortal standards, and sparsely furnished. A canopy bed stood in the middle of the floor, the eaves of the building sloping dangerously close to the soiled muslin. A long, low settee stood near the lone window, and a wash-stand stood in the corner, and a single braided rug lay in front of the empty fireplace. Artemis clapped her hands, and flames erupted in the hearth, crackling merrily and casting dancing shadows on the bare stone walls.

She crossed the room to the bed, drawing back the hangings, sitting down and pointing to the settee, "You can sleep there."

"The innkeeper," Orion said, coming to stand awkwardly in front of the fire. "He said something about a stranger …"

"Monsters can manipulate the Mist as well as we can," Artemis reminded him, clasping and unclasping her fingers.

"I know that," Orion muttered. "I wondered why it would, though. It hardly needs the protection."

Artemis looked incredulously at him. "It has to eat," she said. "If it entered a settlement and the mortals saw it for what it was, then what is to stop them from attacking it? Monster it may be, but incautious it is not."

"Oh."

A brief, awkward silence settled upon them, and then the hunter said, "I must go see the horses and Sirius, my Lady." The click of the door shutting sounded strangely loud in the suddenly vacant room. Not many moments passed before a slight miasma appeared in the air before her – Artemis looked up expectantly as Apollo's form shimmered into view. She could see the throne room at Olympus behind him, apparently empty. An uncharacteristic scowl adorned Apollo's normally cheery features.

"Brother," Artemis smiled, and then she frowned, taking note of his expression, and a sense of foreboding filled her. "What is it?"

" 'She is my sister'?" Apollo quoted sourly, his brow furrowing. Artemis had been expecting news of an impending calamity - relief, and the manner in which he spoke, made her feel unexpectedly light-hearted. "Do I detect jealousy in thy tone, Apollo?" she teased, laughing.

"You are _my_ sister," Apollo mumbled, almost to himself, and then he looked up. "Be careful, Artemis." Artemis scowled.

"I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, as I have told thee upon numerous occasions." Footsteps resounded on the stairs.

"I know," Apollo said impatiently. "But take care of thyself."

All of Artemis's apprehension returned. "Apollo, is there something thou aren't telling me?"

The footfalls neared.

"Do take heed," Apollo sounded unusually serious; there was no teasing twinkle in his eyes, and he seemed to be trying to communicate something of vital importance. "And tarry not, but hurry back to Olympus."

He terminated the Iris-message, just as the door creaked open.

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**A/N:** Review! Pretty please, with a cherry on top!


	5. A Question of Mortality

**A/N:** Firstly, thank you ALL for the reviews ... you have no idea how much they were appreciated! Okay, so here's the next chapter ... I'm not happy with it - I think it's absolute rubbish ... what do you think? Is Artemis in character? Or have I messed her up beyond repair?

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**Chapter Five – A Question of Mortality**

The first rays of sunlight were visible over the edge of the horizon, softly illuminating a sky that was slowly lightening from deep purple to hazy indigo. Artemis examined the paw-prints leading into the forest. Each depression was wider than her hand and more than two inches deep. A long, jagged line ran in between the prints, parallel to the marks, where the Manticore had dragged its scorpion's tail.

"This trail is two days old," Artemis said, getting to her feet and walking back to the horses. "Was not the Manticore birthed in Persia?" Orion asked unexpectedly. Artemis knitted her brow, swinging herself into the saddle. "Yes, but aren't thee off subject? We must hurry if we are to –"

"Then what in Hades is it doing on Crete?" He looked genuinely confused. Artemis made an impatient movement. "Hermes's idea of a joke. He wished to put it in a cage and deliver it to Father on Olympus, but it escaped. Hermes claims it was Hephaestus's fault – apparently the lock was rotten." For some obscure reason, Orion found this amusing – he let out a gale of laughter, strangely reminiscent of wave-thunder. The great black dog trotting by his mount's side seemed to grin, its tongue hanging out of its mouth.

Artemis frowned at the pair of them. "If thou are _quite_ done, we have a monster to hunt. I hope to catch it before it makes a bid for its homeland – it would be nigh impossible to find then."

The hunter composed himself, winking roguishly at the dog. "Let's humor the lady, shall we, old boy?" Sirius grinned wider. Artemis bit back the retort that sprang to her lips, nudging the mare into a canter, not bothering to look back and see if they were following or not. The trees obligingly parted, and the forest swallowed her up.

The sunlight filtered greenly through the forest-leaves, dappling the floor with a myriad of gold leopard-spots. Aside from the rustle of the leaves as the wind stirred the tree-branches, it was eerily quiet; the horses' footfalls resounded intrusively against the packed dirt, amplified because of the absence of background noise. Not a bird twittered, although the morning was warm – soft sun-rays kissed her face, bringing color to her cheeks. Artemis unclasped the brooch securing her cloak; the fabric fell delicately downwards, blanketing her mare's haunches.

A soft breeze ruffled her hair, gently tugging at her skirts and the horses' manes and tails. She felt a sense of contentment settle over her as they followed the trail deeper into the forest. Damp, springy moss carpeted the forest floor, separated by patches of moist brown dirt speckled with green. The tracks were clearly marked, and proceeded purposefully. Here and there, traces of s strong odor prevailed – the smell of rotten meat and musty linens, as if the beast had tarried in some places, leaving clear indicators of its presence.

Gradually, the traces grew fresher, as though the monster had slowed, and Artemis's spirits rose. The hunt might be easier than she expected – but then, might was the key word in that thought … Artemis thought back to Apollo's cryptic warning and frowned, wondering what in Tartarus the man had meant. God of prophecy, indeed … couldn't he be more specific about his predictions?

They rode in companionable silence – even the horses, prone as they were to garrulous chatter, plodded quietly. Artemis took note of every small detail – the occasional gouges in various tree trunks, flattened areas of moss, broken branches, although no one could tell to look at her – she stared straight ahead, her gaze fixed on the tracks. Orion was just as vigilant, but much less subtly – his eyes darted restlessly, flitting around the path with alarming rapidity. The dog padded noiselessly alongside them, tongue lolling, eyes partly closed.

"My Lady?" The hunter drew his horse next to hers, looking half-apologetic, half-curious.

"What? Are thou ever quiet?" This was unfair, and she knew it, but her indignation at having the peace disturbed outweighed her sense of justice.

Emboldened by her tone of voice – which hadn't been as stern and snappish as she'd intended, he continued, "I meant to ask thee a question. 'Tis something I've wondered about, for some time now."

_Well, ask_, Artemis thought. Aloud, she said, "So?"

"What is it like, to be immortal?" His voice was carefully detached, but his expression betrayed his curiosity. Artemis was silent for a moment – the question had caught her off guard. She glanced down at he hands, long – fingered and pale, gripping the reins. Her hair fell forwards, concealing her face.

"You needn't answer," Orion said, a strange note of – what was it – gentleness? in his voice. Artemis bit her lip. " 'Tisn't that I do not want to answer. I am not sure how." Her eyes flitted, unbidden, to his face; something in his unnerved her, and she looked away, ahead, at the trail.

"Time … moves differently, for us," she said finally. "For me, a day is as an hour … a month is as a day. I do not count minutes, and seconds do not exist." A hint of wryness crept into her voice. "Everything moves … slowly. I have eternity on my hands, to do with what I will. It can get very tedious." Now she turned her head, looking at him through a veil of hair. "I envy mortals like thee, sometimes," she whispered. "To have a time of rest – to finally sleep, truly – it tempts me. It is why I hunt, and Apollo writes inane poetry and Athena pores over her scrolls and Hephaestus builds things – so that we have something to do – something profitable, instead of drifting aimlessly through our days …"

"Your Huntresses," Orion said quietly. "They do not seem to share thy bitterness – "

Artemis laughed humorlessly. "None of them live forever," she said. "Their lives are extended beyond those of mortals, yes, but eventually, they die. An arrow, the goring of a horn, the claws of a beast, an injury I cannot heal – and their lives end. Opis is my second lieutenant – a hellhound mauled my first … I couldn't … do anything for her." She fell silent, then, lost in remembrances of the Nereid who had served her, her first seventy years – her mentor, her teacher.

"To spend eternity … following thy pursuits," Orion mused, a little wistfully.

"You are like all mortals… thou would do anything, to live forever, wouldn't thee?" Artemis snapped, wondering, bitterly amused, what in Hades had possessed her to tell him all of that. He looked surprised, then, "No … that isn't what I meant," he spoke quickly, jumbling his words in his haste. "I suppose – it would get rather dull, after a while. Life – would be like – an endless hunt, where the quarry is in sight – but just beyond thy reach. But yes, I imagine all mortals long for immortality … some more openly than others. It always appears as though fish are more plentiful on the next reef. Of course," he added, "things are never as they seem, are they?" He tentatively extended a hand, a gesture of apology, a look of pleading on his face, and Artemis, after a moment's deliberation, took it.

His fingers were rough, calloused, but finely shaped – like the hands of a noble-man. A jolt ran down her spine as she placed her fingers in his, and she stiffened, withdrawing her hand, nodding once, trying to keep her face impassive. _You are forgiven … for now._

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**A/N: Review, please!**


	6. By Firelight

**A/N:** Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! I've said this before, and I will say it again - you guys are the best XD This next chapter ... I ... well ... read it, and tell me what you think ...

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**Chapter Six – By Firelight**

They found the body in a clearing, lying half-devoured under a dead pine on the outskirts of the next village. The head was bent back at an awkward angle, the chest was torn open so that half the ribs were exposed, protruding dull white knobs curving outwards, picked clean of flesh. The tattered remnants of a chiton hung off of the frame; the thick chestnut-brown locks swirled round a pale, ravaged face. Flies hovered over the corpse; their incessant buzzing filled the clearing – the sound of he who lives off the misery of others.

Artemis could not suppress the gasp of horror that burst forth from her lips; her hand went involuntarily to her mouth. A waft of wind blew the smell of decay their way; the horses started, tossing their heads. A low growl rumbled in Sirius's chest. The hunter threw her a concerned look. "My Lady?"

The words rushed out, torrent-like, before she could stop them, "She – she looks a great deal like my mother." It was the expression of misery and unfulfilled longing twisting the dead woman's features, perhaps, or the resignation frozen in the depths of her glassy eyes, that bore the resemblance, and that, too, for the briefest of instants, after which the corpse's face melted into anonymity.

She sat frozen, statue-like, her eyes fixed blankly upon its visage, mentally constructing the woman's emotions in her last moments – the surprise, as her handsome companion transformed from a breath-takingly beautiful man into a savage beast – the horror, as she realized her predicament, and the sense of betrayal, and, at last, the forced acceptance of her quandary's actuality. She was brought back to the present by the touch of a hand on her shoulder; Artemis recoiled, taking a sharp breath, her eyes focusing on Orion's troubled face. He withdrew his hand, saying, "I am sorry. You – you looked like –" She raised an eyebrow, silencing him, and he bit his lip, faintly inclining his head.

He then dismounted, bent over the body, and proceeded to examine it with a thoroughness that rivaled Hermes. "Nearly a day old," he muttered, and looked up at her. "Is there some way we can bury her?" Artemis snapped her fingers, and two spades materialized, dropping at Orion's feet with a low thump. In response to the befuddled expression that crossed his face, she said, "I would have dug the grave with magic, but it seems more – appropriate, to do it thus."

"You will do this?" Orion asked, surprise evident in his tone. "It seems rather menial –"

"While on the Hunt, I am not exempt from such tasks," Artemis said with dignity. "It may be menial, but it is necessary."

The hunter bowed his head. "My Lady."

The last rays of twilight hung over the horizon when the last spade-fuls of earth were deposited onto the mound over the grave. In the spring, Artemis reflected, Demeter would sprinkle it with grass-blades, and flowers would dance to the sound of Persephone's laughter. For now, it would lie barren, an austere reminder of death. A single, crisp brown leaf drifted down from the surrounding trees, coming to rest on top of the rise.

Orion straightened, propping his spade against the pine and glancing up at the rapidly darkening sky. "Should we camp here the night?"

Artemis nodded. "Water the horses," she commanded. "And if thou can bring back a rabbit or the like, do so."

"A rabbit?" Orion grinned. "I'd be ashamed to call myself a hunter if I did not bring back a hind, at the very least."

"Take heed," Artemis scolded, "lest thy words ensnare thee."

He swung his bow onto his back, swinging agilely into his mount's saddle and instructing the other to follow. Twisting his left hand, he placed it over his sternum. "I ride into peril for thy sake, milady," he called mock-dramatically. "What is to be my reward if I should return?"

Artemis pressed her lips together to stop their twitching. "You are to return successful, or not at all," she said, feigning severity.

Orion pretended to look shocked. "You scorn me with thy indifference. Mean I nothing to thee?"

Artemis felt a sudden, unusual desire to laugh, and the hunter's expression of pretended hurt made her laugh harder; her frame almost bent double with mirth.

"Be off with thee," she said breathlessly, slipping an arm around her aching ribs.

He grinned, a little boy's grin, and nudged his horse, disappearing into the forest.

He returned surprisingly early, Sirius laboring under the weight of the deer's carcass. Artemis had, in the meanwhile, built a fire in the middle of the clearing; orange-red flames leapt cheerily upwards, flickering in the wind. The horses were secured, the hind cut up and suspended over the fire. Artemis leaned against a tree, polishing her bow for want of something to do. Orion sat cross-legged across from her, Sirius's head on his knee. The dog's eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the venison; his master's over Artemis's head. After several minutes of watching his unrelenting stare, Artemis grew unnerved and turned her head, following his gaze.

Firelight danced on the mortal woman's grave, casting ghostly shadows upon it. The pine rose behind it, and it appeared to recede into the darkness of the forest. Artemis suppressed an involuntary shiver. "Orion," she called. The hunter's eyes flickered from the mound to Artemis. "Yes, my Lady?"

"Why in Zeus's name art thou staring at the grave?"

Orion shifted uncomfortably. "I was thinking," he muttered.

Artemis raised her eyebrows. "Thinking," she repeated. "Whatever about?"

He looked even more discomfited. "About thy reaction, when thou first laid eyes upon the body."

Inwardly, Artemis cursed. She'd have to keep better control over her emotions. "What about my reaction?" She moved closer to the fire, the better to see his expression.

"I saw thy mother," Orion said hesitantly. "And - I fail to see the resemblance thou saw, between the dead woman and Leto."

Artemis bit her lip. "There was no physical resemblance," she said, almost to herself. "It was more – her circumstance." She looked up at the hunter, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I take it thou knows of my mother's being cast out of Olympus?" She carefully kept her tone neutral, devoid of feeling.

Orion nodded slowly. "I do know."

Artemis shifted. "Well, I was there, when she left. And I saw her face. Therein lies the similarity."

She was unable to contain the resentment that seeped into her tone, and the familiar prickling behind her eyes. She blinked furiously, keeping back the near-overwhelming torrent of tears.

The touch of fingers on the back of her hand made her look up; her eyes focused on Orion's face, dangerously close to her own. The flames gave his face an ethereal appearance; accentuated the strong lines of his stubble-covered jaw and cheekbones, cast his deep, iron-gray eyes into shadow.

"The venison is done, I believe," Artemis said, breaking an awkward silence, and removing her hand. A strange look crossed the hunter's face; Artemis could not put a finger on the expression, but it unnerved her. _I am venturing into unfamiliar territory_, she thought, and then, _What is wrong with me?_

**A/N:** I'm sorry! I'm an absolute novice at this! Have a cupcake, and tell me what you think!


	7. Encounter

**A/N:** *cringes* Okay, so I'm really, really, really nervous about uploading this following chapter ... and I've decided to take the plunge (may the Lord grant me the ability to breathe underwater) ... I hope it's good enough ... and I want to thank all of you who reviewed the previous chapter ... you have absolutely no idea how much it means to me.

**A/N:** I want to extend a HUGE thank you to dnrl - who caught a mistake I'd made - thank you *smiles*

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**Chapter Seven – Encounter**

_Two Days Later_

Shadows danced around the camp fire. The flames crackled merrily, flickering from red to orange and back (' 'Tis not as pretty as a driftwood fire, but it will have to do,' Orion had said). Artemis sat with her back to a tree, turning an arrow over in her hands. The horses were picketed a little way aways – the tack, saddlebags and her bow were stacked neatly next to them.

She stuck the arrow point first into the ground, holding her fingers over the fire, feeling the warmth creep up her hands, melting away the cold. The moon was a pale sliver, and the stars shone brilliantly above her, glittering like millions of tiny diamonds set in a blue-black sky. The air was icy; Artemis shivered as a particularly frosty gust of wind smote her, driving through her cloak as if it did not exist. She pulled at the cloth, wrapping it more securely around her bare shoulders (why must chitons be sleeveless?) and drawing her knees to her chest.

Several peaceful, quiet moments drifted lazily by, and then the horses, who had been grazing voraciously, stiffened, raising their heads as one, to look toward the forest, and Artemis felt a presence beside her own – one that was certainly not benign.

A pair of eyes glinted opposite her, gleaming in the firelight. The bulk of the figure was enshrouded by the trees – its eyes, garishly human, seemed to hover in mid-air. Slowly, the figure advanced, revealing a pointed nose and a cherubic mouth on a white-blond head mounted upon a lion's body. It's scorpion's tail arched threateningly over its back, trained directly at her. She breathed in sharply. The Manticore.

"Well," the monster hissed. "Olympus has sent its _best _to retrieve me. I must be sorely missed." Artemis disliked the manner in whish the beast uttered the word 'best' – as if it were implying she was not. She half-glanced over to where her bow lay, glinting silver, several meters from where she sat, and her heart sank. She would never reach it – not before the Manticore sent one of its poisonous spines her way, effectively incapacitating her. She would not die – she could not, but she would be unable to move until someone got ambrosia and nectar into her.

The monster chuckled. "Yes, it is too far, is it not? I must admit, I'm rather glad. I wished to speak to thee – and it appears I shall never have a better chance."

"What does thou want?" Artemis said bitingly.

"Leave off hunting me. What have I ever done to thee?"

"You've caused the deaths of several mortals … I am here to answer their families' request."

The Manticore's eyes bored into her face as it shook its head, almost imperceptibly. "Why is it, really, that thou hunt me? Is just to please thy father? But thou hate him, don't thee? For denying thy mother a place amongst the twelve …"

Artemis froze. "I – I do not hate him!" _How did the creature know? _The Manticore sneered. "Is that so? He never wanted thee … thy presence on Olympus reminds him daily of thy mother – and the havoc she caused by, ah, _seducing_ him … does thou know? I believe – he sent thee after me to be rid thee, even for a little while …"

A roaring filled Artemis's ears; she leapt to her feet, fists clenched. The small, still-rational part of her said, _don't let it goad thee – stay calm – maintain thy dignity!_ She ignored it.

"Stop," she cried, trembling. _Calm, calm._ "Stop, in Zeus's name, or I'll –"

"You will what?" The Manticore smirked. "Blast me with thy magic? You cannot – the laws of the Hunt decree I must be killed by a weapon, and not by the use of divine power. Thy bow is out of thy reach – or do thou not remember?"

Artemis set her jaw, trying to keep her composure. "I will hunt thee," she promised, breathing deeply, evenly. "I will follow thee to the ends of the earth, and I will bring thee down."

The Manticore regarded her calmly, its face impassive. "And then? Will thou return to Olympus bearing mine head, and learn what I have said is true?"

"Thou liest," Artemis told it, her nails digging into her palms. The monster flashed a mocking smile at her over its shoulder, disappearing into the forest.

Artemis sank to her knees, her lips trembling, her vision blurred. Tears gathered thick and fast, pearly drops sliding down her cheeks. _Do not cry, you imbecile._ She drew her legs up to her chest, resting her face against her knees.

"My Lady?" He entered the clearing, shouldering his bow, Sirius carrying two limp rabbits in his mouth.

_Go away_, Artemis thought angrily. The hunter crossed the clearing, kneeling beside her. A hand was placed on her shoulder, his voice resounding urgently in her ear. "My Lady? Artemis?"

"It knows," she mumbled into her knees.

"What knows?"

"The Manticore," she lifted her face. "It knows." _That I feel unloved … unwanted …_ and tears collected in the corners of her eyes again. She lowered her face into her hands, silently berating herself. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably. _Compose thyself!_

Arms wound around her, drawing her close, pulling her head onto a hard, muscled chest. His scent filled her nostrils – the smell of cool sea-breezes, mingled with perspiration and the sweet aroma of blood-ichor.

She felt herself being rocked gently back and forth, heard him whispering "Shh … shh …", his breath hot on her ear, and she understood what the mortals meant when they said Hawwa was _of_ Ha-adam. She belonged here – this embrace, where strong arms held her, and a face was pressed into her hair – felt so very different from the hugs she exchanged with her mother, her father, her brother – so very different – so very right. _So very wrong._

_Weakling_, Artemis thought, and she pushed him away, trying to ignore the hurt that flashed across his face. She stood up, her breath coming in short, hitching gasps, her fingers fluttering as she dashed the tears away.

The wind whirled her skirts, played havoc with her hair; looking down at her clasped hands, her back to him, she said, "I'm sorry, Orion. I cannot accept your affection_." It goes against my very grain._ She turned, to find that he had gotten to his feet, and was looking at her, his expression blank. His shirt was damp with her tears. His eyes searched hers, and he nodded, comprehension blossoming on his face. "I understand," he said quietly. "But that does not mean I won't offer it. You needn't feel unloved."

He started turning away. Artemis bit her lip. She had not realized she'd said that aloud. "I will not be pitied," she snapped. He smiled.

"One cannot pity she whom he admires."

He placed his bow by hers and removed the rabbit from Sirius's mouth, drawing his hunting-knife.

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**A/N:** Did I screw it? Is it horrible? Have I butchered her completely? *wringes hands tearfully* Please tell me what you think!


	8. Exodus

**A/N: **Okay, so Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it ... and I'm awfully sorry I haven't updated in so long ... I actually had this chapter typed up for quite a while, but I didn't upload it because, quite frankly, I think it's horrible. So you owe Nicola (the Epitome of Randomness) for guilting me into uploading this. I hope I don't disappoint too much.

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**Chapter Eight – Exodus**

_He cares for thee._

_So? 'Tisn't as though thou encouraged him._

_He's loyal, and brave, and respects thee._

_And I allow him to live. What more is expected?_

_He's thy equal in skill._

_In which case I should incinerate him, rather than conversing with myself. 'Tis madness._

_Love is madness._

_What was that? Ah, Artemis! If one could hear thee now … Aphrodite would never let thee live it down!_

_He loves me …_

_And thou knows this how? Stay thy hand, Artemis, and see reason, for Zeus's sake… what of thy pledge?_

_'Twon't be necessary to break it._

_And thy standard? Will thou then stoop, to save thine own heart, and break another's?_

_What is this of mine heart? _

_Fie on thee, Artemis! You do not know thy own desire!_

_There is no desire!_

_Have it thy own way. But I speak'st true._

"My Lady?" His voice jolted her out of her reverie, and Artemis looked back.

"Yes, Orion?" His horse stood several feet behind hers, at a fork in the road, where a lopsided signboard protruded out of the ground. He looked uncomfortable.

"Forgive my forwardness, but thou have gone too far." Artemis wondered whether the awkwardness in his tone was due to fear of being incinerated, or because he hated pointing out her mistake. Another part of her berated her for not paying attention to her surroundings. _You must maintain better control of thyself!_

To Orion, she nodded; when she spoke, her voice was calm, collected. "Yes, it appears I have. Thank you. I commend thy vigilance."

The hunter bowed his head – a silent acceptance of her praise, and Artemis turned her mare around.

They had lost the trail a few days after Artemis's 'meeting' with the Manticore, near the port-town of Sitia, on the eastern side of Crete. Artemis was certain the monster would have entered the town; sailing ships left Sitia for Turkey regularly. She knew Orion shared her opinion. There was a subtle difference in their relationship – while he was as polite and affable (and thick-headed) as ever, and she was as removed and calm as always, there was an awkwardness about their interaction that had not been present before.

Inwardly, Artemis cursed herself – she had been a fool to not have seen something like this would happen. Outwardly, she was dignity itself.

They entered Sitia in the early afternoon, when the little town was bustling with activity. Mortals hurried hither and thither, conducting their everyday business; the narrow streets thronged with chariots, beasts of burden, and people on foot.

They made their way through the crowd, towards the docks, moving too slowly for Artemis's liking. Sirius trotted underneath the horses' bellies, to avoid being trampled. She saw the old lady only after the woman had almost been flattened by her mare's hooves. She pulled the horse back sharply, an apology on the tip of her tongue. The old woman, however, shot her one look before falling to her knees.

"Lady Artemis," she cried hoarsely. "An honor … an absolute honor!"

"Rise," Artemis told her. The mortal rose shakily, her head still bowed. "Has thou seen anything unusual, lately?" Artemis asked.

"My Lady would mean the monster," the old woman said to her feet. "It passed through just yesterday, and went towards the docks. Nobody else noticed," she confided. "And I thought it might notice that I could see it. So I hid, behind yonder stand." She gestured vaguely towards a fruit-stall laden with over-ripe produce, tended to by a half-asleep mortal man with watery blue eyes and a corpulent nose.

Artemis smiled. "You have done me a service," she said, placing several coins in the crone's withered palm. "You have but to call and I shall assist thee, should the need arise." Tears filled the old woman's eyes as she half-stepped, half-stumbled out of Artemis's way, her wasted fingers closing possessively over the handful of drachmas. Her thanks followed them down the street.

"She saw it," Orion sounded awed. Artemis nodded an affirmative – here, again, was his half-irritating, half-endearing tendency to point out the obvious. "But she was mortal," he protested.

Realization dawned on her, and Artemis twisted in her saddle. "Chiron did not tell thee, then?"

"Tell me what?"

"A handful of mortals are gifted with the Sight," Artemis said.

"The sight," Orion repeated, bemused.

"The Mist does not interfere with their vision – they see through it."

"So – that old lady," the hunter jerked his head in the crone's direction. "Saw thee for who thou are?"

Artemis nodded. "Yes, she did."

"Useful," Orion remarked, and Artemis felt a sudden surge of anger.

"I can see why thou were not taught this," she said harshly.

He flinched at her tone. "Because," she continued, feigning indifference, "thou 'heroes' would take advantage of them. That is what thou does, is it not? Look for strengths and weaknesses in others, and use them."

Orion's mouth set in a hard, thin line. "And you do not?" he asked quietly. A part of Artemis's mind whispered, _he's right, and thou knows it_. She ignored it.

"I am a goddess," she retorted. A poor comeback, but not one that could be disputed with.

His face told her he was hurt, angry, and wanted to argue further. His voice said, "My Lady." And Artemis faced forward again, a turmoil of conflicting emotions brewing in her heart.

The innkeeper at the Siren's Serenade, a pub at the docks habitually frequented by sailors, was a tall, stooped old man with a thin, croaky voice as unlike a siren's as a purr is a roar.

"Has thou had a man in here?" Orion asked brusquely, in response to the innkeeper's

" 'ow may I be of assistance?" His demeanor had been rather sullen ever since they'd seen the mortal lady with the Sight.

"I 'ave 'ad lots of men in 'ere," the innkeeper replied, a faint smile curving his thin mouth. "What did 'e look like?"

Orion closed his eyes, fighting back a smile, and Artemis's lips twitched.

"I was getting to that," the hunter said, and went on to repeat the description of the Manticore's face that Artemis had told him. "He was white-blond, with blue eyes, a pointed nose –"

"And Cupid's mouth – and 'e was tall, and 'ad no cloak, and was brusquer than thou art, young man," the innkeeper completed. Orion had the grace to look embarrassed.

"Yes, I 'ad such a customer. Didn't want anything to drink, just asked when the next ship to Antalya set sail."

"What did thou tell him?"

"Well, I said, 'Not for two days, sir,' and 'e gave me this look as suggested t'were my fault," the old man shook his grizzled head, "'e left yesterday mornin', on the Vengeance."

"Is there a ship leaving today?"

"The Mount Olympus sails in some time," the innkeeper pointed a gnarled finger at a burly man sitting with an equally bulked-up group of rowdy sailors at the most central table in the pub, raising a foaming tankard. "That's 'er captain. You might want to 'ave a word with 'im, see if 'e'll let thee on board. Is it a pursuit, then?" He added knowingly.

"Yes," Orion said shortly. The innkeeper seemed disappointed at the lack of details.

"Very well," he said.

"Thank you," Orion placed several drachmas on the counter. The old man pocketed them, nodding.

The hunter approached the group of sailors, who fell silent as he neared. "What does thou want?" the captain asked.

"We wish to sail to Antalya," Orion informed him.

The captain scratched his chin, looking him up and down. "I don't take passengers," he said.

"Money is of no concern," and Orion removed a pouch from within his cloak. Artemis tsked silently. _Spendthrift_. The captain regarded him shrewdly, and then rose.

"Come with me," he instructed, leading them away from his crew.

"I'm a man short," he confided. "My steersman up and ran a few days ago … so if thou has experience in sailing, I'd be glad to take thee, provided thou pays the girl's fare." He jerked his head in Artemis's direction, and muttered, "Bad luck to have a woman on board, but I need the money." Artemis's fingers twitched.

"You will address her as Lady," Orion said quietly, a hint of steel in his voice. "I will pay thy price. You are fortunate … I am somewhat experienced in sailing." _Liar_, Artemis thought. _Sailing is in thy blood_.

"Can thou steer?" The captain demanded, his eyes narrowed. There was a seemingly unconscious, almost imperceptible tightening in the muscles of his jaw.

"Among other things," Orion smiled, his hand drifting carelessly to the knife in his belt. The man took the hint.

"All right," he allowed. "We leave in an hour. Be at the Mount Olympus before then." He returned to the rest of the crew.

"You oughtn't to have goaded him," Artemis hissed as they left the inn.

"He insulted thee," Orion said tightly.

"Even so," Artemis said, "You would have come to a fight, and then where would thou be?"

"Elysium, I hope," Orion said, a corner of his mouth pulling up into a half-smile.

"With thy hastiness?" Artemis snapped. "You would probably wander Asphodel for eternity."

He stiffened, and his face settled into the surly mask he'd been wearing earlier. Artemis sighed.

When they reached the horses, Artemis pulled herself into the mare's saddle, then stood waiting for Orion to mount. He was stroking Sirius's ears absent-mindedly, while pretending to listen to something the horse had to say. "Orion?" Artemis asked impatiently. "Are thou planning to mount soon?"

The hunter looked up at her. "There's something I want to do first," he said. Artemis raised her eyebrows. "Is there, now? What is it?"

The shadow of a grin crossed his face. "You will have to wait and see."

"And I assume thou will do this – whatever it is – on thy own?"

"Do I look like a child to thee?" Orion asked sullenly.

"Honestly speaking, yes," Artemis said, unable to resist.

"Well, the innkeeper it is, then," Orion said softly, and Sirius seemed to grin in answer.

"Orion!" Artemis set her teeth. _Why do I put up with thee, anyhow?_

"I meant no disrespect, my Lady," the hunter said innocently, "but to answer thy question, yes, I would prefer to do this alone, although 'tisn't as though I can pretend to tell thee what to do."

She decided to let it go. "Tarry not," she instructed.

"I won't," Orion said obediently, and placing his foot in the stirrup, hoisted himself into the saddle.

She rode slowly past the various ships docked at the pier, ignoring the doubtful looks directed her way as eyes fell upon her. She could almost hear their thoughts aloud – a woman, riding alone, in a predominantly male area? How scandalous. It was late afternoon; most of the people who came to buy fish and the like were gone, and the vendors were packing up and putting unsold merchandise away. The crews of various sailing ships were readying them for departure – their shouts echoing in discordant harmony with the crashing of the waves. The sky overhead was a pale, washed out blue; the sun was an incandescent yellow orb on the horizon, winking cheerily at her. Artemis felt a rush of nostalgia as she remembered Apollo – she hadn't seen him since he had Iris-messaged her in the Dying Huntsman, and four weeks had elapsed between then and now. The last of summer had somehow faded away during her time on the road; and autumn wrapped her arms around the world – Demeter's mourning prevalent in the coldness of the air, the reddening of the leaves, the withering of the flowers, the embroidered shawls draped around the women's shoulders.

The Mount Olympus was the last ship tied up at the dock. Her hull bore her name in peeling gold letters, and the tightly furled fabric of her sails had clearly seen better days, but she floated proudly, her scrubbed wooden decks shining in the sunlight. Artemis approached the ship. A sailor looked over the side and shouted, "Name thy business!"

"I'm meant to board," Artemis called back. "Thy captain hired my brother – he's to be the new steersman!" Her voice wavered a little on the words 'my brother' and Artemis shook herself. _Since when did thou have qualms about lying?_

The sailor frowned; she could see his thick, bushy eyebrows contract from where she stood. "No women are allowed aboard the Mount Olympus," he said. "'Tis bad luck!"

The ship's captain appeared then, saying, "'Tis all right, man! Lower the gangplank!" The sailor started to protest, but the captain stood firm, and the plank was lowered, and Artemis trotted her mare up to the deck.

The rapid clatter of hooves on cobblestone sounded then, and Orion's horse cantered up to the ship. "You took thy time," Artemis snapped, when the gangplank had been raised and the sails unfurled. He stood at the helm, one hand draped casually over the wheel, surveying the deck. Sailors rushed about haphazardly; the captain stood with his back to the mizzenmast, barking orders. "They're extremely disorganized," Orion remarked. "I could sail this ship alone." His previous bad humor seemed to melt away as soon as he had stepped on board.

_Yes, I know thou could._ "Where were thou, anyway?" The ship veered to port then, facing the open sea. "At a stand in the marketplace," he said. "I saw thee when thou passed … I'm surprised you did not see me."

"What were thou doing?" Artemis asked impatiently.

"Making a purchase," Orion told her, smiling teasingly. "What else does one do at a market?"

"You are hopeless," was Artemis's rejoinder, and she turned, walking through the chaotic disorder to her cabin and shutting the door firmly behind her.

The knock at her door came what seemed like ages later, although in truth it might have been less than an hour. Artemis looked up from the maps she had been poring over. "Come in," she called, after what she hoped was a respectable interval, and Orion entered the cabin.

"Would thou object to stepping out for a moment?" He sounded extremely hopeful.

Artemis knitted her brow. "Whatever for?"

"If thou comes out, thou will see," he said enticingly. Artemis set the maps down, after folding them carefully, and stood, crossing to the door. Orion held it open for her. "You're being very chivalrous," she remarked.

"I am always chivalrous," he said, pretending to look wounded, and Artemis laughed.

The sky was a far cry from the azure it had been earlier; now, its vast expanse was splashed with fiery oranges and passionate reds fading to a deep indigo. The tip of the sun glowed crimson amidst this splendor; it seemed to sink into an ocean of melted gold. Wave crests rose out of the water – Artemis caught sight of a herd of hippocampi riding the surges. She rested her elbows on the ship's side, drinking in the pure majesty of the sunset. _Thank you, Apollo_.

Orion laid a hand on her shoulder. "Artemis?"

Surprise that he had addressed her by name colored her tone, "Yes?"

"I have something for thee."

_What can thou give me that I have not, already?_ "What is it?"

He removed a small wooden chest from inside his cloak, placing it in her hand. Intricate carvings decorated the wood. "It's beautiful," Artemis said.

Orion laughed. "Open it," he told her, and without waiting for her to prise it open, he plucked it from her fingers, unfastening the little brass clasp. Artemis had to smile at his eagerness. Nestled within the box was a polished silver scallop and chain. Sunlight glinted off of its glossy smoothness. He opened this as well, to reveal a large, creamy-white pearl, gleaming lustrously.

"You told me that I took advantage of others, because of who I am," Orion said, his eyes searching her face. "The - pearl - it is my loyalty that I have given thee. I will never manipulate thee, or treat thee unfairly. "

Artemis lifted the scallop out of the box, fingering the pearl. "You do know what that means?" she asked wonderingly.

The hunter smiled. "I do. The pearl – it will break, if I should prove false."

Artemis's breath caught. "You would sacrifice –"

"Others have, for thee," Orion told her. "Why should I not, as well?" His words lingered in the air, as though volumes had been said, but the complete works yet remained.

Artemis snapped the scallop shut, holding up the chain. "Clasp it for me, will thou?"

He obliged, setting the box down and placing the chain around her neck. The scallop settled into the hollow at her throat. Tears pricked Artemis's eyes. "Well?" she asked with false cheeriness. "How does it look?"

"Beautiful." He seemed unable to say more. Artemis swallowed.

"Thank you," she said thickly. "But thou should not have –"

Orion shook his head, placing a finger on her lips. Artemis's eyes widened at his touch; a jolt ran through her body. _Too close, too close. _Her eyes fluttered shut involuntarily; she felt the whisper of his breath on her skin. Cool sea breezes, and wildflowers. She shook her head frantically. "Orion, please, do not do this," she forced herself to look at him. Worlds of hurt shone in his eyes. "I am so sorry," Artemis said. "I – I cannot. You – you know I cannot." Her hand gripped his arm; she raised her tear-filled eyes to his; the gray in them was almost silver, like the stars. "You cannot understand," she whispered. "I- " Her breath came in hitching gasps; her lips trembled. _Pathetic._ He brought a hand up, prising her fingers from his arm. The hand hung limply at her side, the fingers automatically curling inwards to her palm.

"I apologize for causing thee such distress," he said formally. "Be assured I shall not broach the subject again."

"I accept thy apology," Artemis said faintly, her eyes closed. A tear escaped from beneath the lid, coursing down her cheek. He touched the scallop with a tip of his finger. "You wear my heart," he told her. "I thank thee." And he turned and walked away, towards the ship's helm.

"Thank you," Artemis whispered after him. "I know. And – I – love thee."

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**A/N:** Yes it's long ... I hope I haven't bored you *shudders*. Click on that button down there, and tell me what you think!


	9. Pursuit

**A/N:** Well, here it is. The chapter was originally supposed to be longer, but I couldn't finish what I'd intended to, and so was obliged to cut it short. This has been uploaded in an awful hurry, so please feel free to point out any mistakes. *blows kisses to reviewers* Thank you all so very much. You're da best! XD

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**Chapter Nine – Pursuit**

It took eight days to reach their destination – eight long, uncomfortable days, during which very little happened. They did not run into any storms – any and all signs of tempest mysteriously avoided their ship, even though it was that time of year. Artemis knew this had something to do with Orion and his power over the ocean – her own authority on the weather seemed to be aided by another's, whenever she exerted it. The wind sang true in the Olympus's sails, the sea was calm beneath her hull, and the currents guided her with sure, guiding hands.

The hunter seemed to be attempting to avoid her, and Artemis did not press him. She knew where he was, always – the ship was small, for one thing, and she was a goddess, for another, but she refrained from seeking a face-to-face encounter. Her own feelings of anger at the influence he held over her (_I am a goddess, and therefore obliged to no-one_) made this easier for her at first, but ultimately, she found that she grieved the loss of his company – and this caused her further distress. Sirius the dog, disliking the rowdiness of the sailors, took to keeping her company. He would sidle into her cabin, pad softly over the plank-wood floor to where she sat, and settle himself at her feet, gazing imploringly up at her, his doleful eyes communicating his sense of betrayal.

Now, more than ever, Artemis wished her journey was over and she were back on Olympus. It was another strange feeling in a series of peculiar emotions she had experienced since she had left her mother's house – previously, Artemis had never felt any semblance of homesickness while on the Hunt. She attributed all of this to Orion's presence, and again cursed herself for her lack of foresight – apparently, Apollo had taken all of that particular characteristic when their respective qualities were being doled out at the time of their birth.

The Mount Olympus docked at the port of Antalya in the afternoon of the eighth day.

The sun hung low in the sky – the days had become increasingly shorter as their voyage progressed – shorter, and cooler, and carried an omnipresent sense of growing gloominess and despondency. The anchor was lowered, the gangplank let down, and the ship's company descended, leaving only the ship's cook and the cabin boy on board. Artemis stepped down carefully, her fingers clenched around her mare's bridle. The animal balked and tossed her head, but then proceeded sedately enough once she realized the plank was her path to safety and firm, dry land.

The quay was bustling with mortals; Antalya being a port-town saw all kinds of people, both native and foreign, strange and familiar. Artemis stood to one side as Orion settled their account with the captain of the Mount Olympus. There was a great deal of back-slapping and congenial smiles, and Artemis heard the captain inform Orion that if they were to seek return passage whilst the Mount Olympus was still in Antalya, he'd be happy to see them back to Crete – he'd never employed a finer steersman. He added something in an undertone; the distance at which she stood, and the noise surrounding her prevented her from picking up what he said. The hunter thanked him and turned away, whistling for his horse to follow him. Artemis watched him approach with trepidation, her eyes fixed on his face. He refused to meet her gaze; glancing instead around at the organized commotion of the harbor.

"The captain wished me to apologize to thee on his behalf for any discourtesy his crew might have done thee," Orion said when he neared her, still refusing to meet her eyes.

"What harm does the insolence of a few mere mortals do me?" Artemis inquired coolly. "Am I not a goddess? Do I not do as I will?"

"Milady," Orion inclined his head, and turned to grip the pommel of his saddle.

"Orion," Artemis said impulsively, and placed a hand on his arm. She felt him stiffen under her touch, but did not remove her fingers. "Let us not continue thus. Thy formality – it disturbs me."

"Thy desire is my command, my Lady," he answered, and the corner of his mouth pulled up into a half smile. Artemis was reminded of arguments she had had with Apollo; it was at this instance that her brother would, after agreeing to put aside hostilities, pull her into a rib-cracking hug, ruffle her hair, and proclaim her to be an 'excellent little sister, the likes of which are not in this world', leaving her with a scowl on her face, for outward appearances, and a happy glow in her heart. But Orion was not her brother, and Artemis turned away, and, placing her foot into the stirrup, mounted her mare.

"Are we to stay in Antalya the night?" Orion asked as the horses wove through the crowd, Sirius trotting beneath their bellies.

"Ask after an inn," Artemis said, eyes roving the harbor. "We must inquire if the Vengeance has docked."

"We needn't go to an inn for that," Orion told her, and hailed a passing dock-hand. "Lad!" The boy stopped, the basket on his arm swinging precariously.

"Yes, sir?"

"Has the Vengeance berthed, yet?"

The dock-hand gestured towards a ship anchored several bow-lengths away. "That's her just now, sir. She's late; she were expected day afore yesterday."

Orion twisted sharply in his saddle, shielding his eyes with a hand and examining the ship's deck. He breathed in sharply, and Artemis followed his gaze. Amongst the cloak-swathed, bedraggled sailors on deck, all of whose heads were enveloped in their hoods, stood a tall, bare-headed man, his blond hair gleaming in the sunlight. His eyes met Artemis's and his mouth curled up into a feral snarl.

"Thank ye, lad," she told the boy, tearing her gaze away from the Manticore. She slipped a hand into her cloak, withdrew a drachma, and placed it into his palm. The boy nodded, his fingers curling over the coin, and took off, the basket swaying rhythmically.

Artemis turned her horse in a tight circle, urging her forward, Orion close behind. On the deck of the Vengeance, the Manticore leaped forward with inhuman speed, casting the mortal sailors aside with a sweep of its tail. Its form seemed to shimmer, now human, now monster. Artemis started to reach into her quiver, then glanced around at the mortals drifting past her on the dock. She swore under her breath, an edict she was bound by resounding in her head. 'No mortal may bear witness to the Hunt of Lady Artemis.' She bit her lip, urging her horse forward.

The air whistled close by her ear as the hunter loosed two arrows, one after the other. "Orion!" she called out, furiously. One of the arrows lodged itself beneath the beast's shoulder; it dodged the other, and she saw the man-Manticore mockingly pull the shaft out, tap his breast and leap the deck, landing lightly on the dock.

"Chain mail," she cursed bitterly. "And I cannot enchant the arrows; t'will be against the Laws of the Hunt. Stay thy - "

Arrows sang then; there was a shout of pain, and two shafts protruded from the beast's arm. The Manticore snarled over its shoulder, and surged forward the crowd parting to let it through. The hunter's horse careered past her, his dog leaping at its side, "T'wont kill it, but t'will slow it down," he shouted over his shoulder, "Art thou coming, or are thee not?" and Artemis jabbed her heel into her mare's side.

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**A/N:** Mwaaahaahaaa! 'Till next time, people, and Review!


	10. Canis Major

**A/N: **My apologies for making you all wait so long ... to my reviewers - you are, and forever will be, the best ... you rock, and you provide much needed encouragement and advice. Thank you all so much. Special thanks to Sa Rart for support, reviews, and questions and the Epitome of Randomness for that wonderful bit of advice on overcoming writer's block and the awesomeness of her story. You two are the best!

This chapter ... I'm not happy with it, to say the least - it is unedited, has been uploaded on the spur of the moment, and is probably fraught with errors and mishaps. This is where you come in - please, please tell me what I've done wrong and what can be improved!

I won't keep you any longer ... but before you continue - there is a reference in this chapter to another myth - from a different nation's mythology. Cookies to whoever catches it!

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****Chapter Ten – Canis Major**

The Manticore moved more easily than they; it was on foot, and able to slip into small places with ease, unhindered as it was. It led them out of the harbor, past stands of produce and leather and crockery and all the manner of merchandise; a swirl of colors and sounds and smells. Artemis caught sight of a monkey in a gilded cage before it was swept into oblivion. The streets became narrower, and more crowded, and they fell further and further behind, until at last they came to a crossroads, and were obliged to stop, and ask after it.

An old man sat crouched next to a gnarled juniper growing beside the road. Dust swirled in clouds around his head, and a crow perched upon his shoulder, cawing miserably. A ragged black patch obscured his right eye, and his wrinkled, prune-like face was hung with straggly, gray curtains of un-kept, unwashed hair. He lifted his face to them as they approached, an expectant expression twisting his features.

"Which way did the runner before us go, old man?" Orion asked, drawing his horse to a halt. The old man, however, turned towards Artemis.

"No knowledge is without a price," said he.

The hunter reached into his cloak. "Is it money that thou desire?"

A scornful expression crossed the old man's face. "Know what you seek," he said, his eye still fixed upon Artemis.

"Which way, old man?" Orion repeated impatiently.

He looked toward Orion then. "East," he answered. "And thou shalt come upon another crossing, and thence thou shalt take the road to Raven's Peak."

"Thank you," the hunter said, and he attempted to place a few coins in the old man's palm. He waved them away, and again fixed his one-eyed gaze on Artemis's face, and she felt a chill go down her spine.

"No knowledge is without a price," he repeated. "And the priciest of knowledge is that which resides in one's heart." He fingered his eye-patch, and the crow inclined its head, its beady intelligent eyes gleaming, and a hoarse caw escaped it. Artemis bit her lip.

"I thank thee," she murmured, and turned her mare eastwards. "Let us go," she motioned towards Orion. "We are losing time."

It was some way down the road on their third day their horses collapsed, first Artemis's, and then Orion's. She did what she could to ease their passing; thereafter they continued on foot. The forest was dense, lush green, more jungle than forest and the weather was strangely warm and humid. The vegetation was unfamiliar, the road beneath their feet packed dirt. Sirius plodded between them, his tail between his legs, his ears flat, his lips curled back. Artemis carried her bow with an arrow already notched and kept her dagger within reach. Sunlight dappled the forest floor in a series of stripes – a continuous, rippling succession of orange and green. It patterned their faces, and Sirius's fur, and turned her bow from silver to verdigris. Artemis walked fluidly; silently, and her pace was more like that of a run than a walk. She did not slacken, breathing regularly through her nose, her fingers clasped compulsively around the curve of her bow.

They found the crossroads later that evening. The forest had darkened until the leaves overhead were black, and a wind had started up, that rustled the trees and covered any little sound they chanced to make. Artemis stopped to examine a gouge-mark left on a tree-trunk; Orion reached the sign boards first, and when Artemis caught up with him, she asked, glancing up and down the three paths, "Well? Which way is Raven's Peak?"

"It isn't Greek," the hunter said hesitantly, fingering the lettering on one of the boards.

"So?" Artemis asked, bewildered.

"So if it isn't Greek, I cannot read it," and she could've sworn there was more color in his cheeks than before. "It's a – failing of mine."

She decided to spare him the embarrassment of further questioning and glanced at the boards. "North," she said, and gesturing for Sirius to follow her, she started down the middle path.

Faint slivers of moonlight sifted through the branches, now and again obscured by thick, heavy clouds. Artemis glanced up at them, willing the storm to recede, but it defied her will, and she gave up, setting the Manticore's tracks instead. Overhead, the trees swayed violently, and the wind picked up, howling ominously through the branches. A flash of lightning would sporadically illuminate the sky beyond the overhanging tree limbs, accompanied by a clap of thunder and a few scattered rain-drops.

The tracks cut off abruptly at the edge of a clearing, and Artemis, coming to a standstill at the brink of the little wind-swept meadow, held up a hand to stop Orion, stepping behind a tree. Sirius, attempting to nose past his master, found the fur on the back of his neck clenched in the hunter's grasp.

"It is here," Artemis breathed quietly, scanning the clearing from around the tree trunk. "Note how it has attempted to make it appear as though it has continued -" and she pointed out the remnants of rain-washed prints crossing the glade, "but it doubled back. It has concealed itself in the trees ahead, I'll warrant." She could feel its presence settle over her, an aura of omnipresent gloom choking the air. Rain fell steadily, the gentle pitter-patter of rain drops on soft ground and the rush of falling water and softly moaning tree branches joining in pleasant harmony – their idyllic nature at odds with the despondency cast by the Manticore's presence.

"I presume once we venture out, it will attempt to ambush us?" Orion asked quietly, eyes flickering from one spray of dense, rain-drenched foliage to another.

Artemis nodded. "It believes I cannot sense its presence, because it bested me before – as I'm sure thou recall." She hadn't meant to say the last bit, and tried to keep her tone casual, but she could not stop the flush of color that rose to her cheeks.

"I have not forgotten," Orion said, a strange inflection in his voice.

"One of us will take it from behind – relieve it of its tail," Artemis turned to face him, steadfastly ignoring what he had said, "and the other will press it from in front. It will probably attempt to use a sword or some such weapon – keep its human form -"

"You are the better swordsman," Orion interrupted her. "I'll take it from behind."

Artemis knew she should be annoyed, but instead, she felt a calm sense of relief settle over her. "Very well," she allowed, "I will take its front. "

She snapped her fingers, and two shields fell at their feet. "I cannot hunt with magic," she said grimly, "but I can use it to aid me."

They separated at the edge of the glade. Artemis and Sirius entered the clearing; Artemis walked forward boldly, her sword held loosely in one hand, the shield in the other. Beyond the shelter of the branches, the rain fell heavily, and it was not long before she was soaked to the skin. Water ran in rivulets down her body, and her hair plastered itself to her face. She felt the monster near before she saw it. Its shape loomed out from behind the silvery-gray curtains of falling water. It had kept its human form; its long, lithe body shimmered at the edges, and its slick blond head glowed faintly. Its strange, iridescent eyes were narrowed, and a shadow reared up behind it – its scorpion's tail.

Artemis stopped in the middle of the clearing, her blade point-first to the ground.

The Manticore's mouth twitched. "And so we meet, again," it said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The pleasure is all mine," Artemis said softly. "I seem to recall that we have unfinished business to complete."

"You are persistent, for an immortal," the Manticore noted offhandedly. "They usually tire so easily."

"You speak of immortals as though thou were not one," Orion spoke from behind it, smiling slightly, as if determined to match their casualness, but Artemis could see the anger and suppressed anticipation in his steel-gray eyes.

The monster turned its head slightly, a tinge of annoyance flickering on its face.

"Yes, I seem to recall there were two of you," it muttered. "How infuriating." It raised its voice, sneering slightly. "No, godling, I am not immortal. I am better - " and it launched a projectile in his direction, springing at Artemis. A broadsword seemed to appear out of nowhere – it held it in both hands, not bothering with a shield. Artemis blocked the first blow, lithely stepping out of its way, parrying the next stroke with a quick flick of her wrist. Orion caught the missile on his shield, and drawing his sword, parried several thorns arcing his way, trying to close the distance between himself and the monster. A part of Artemis's mind idly wondered at the Manticore's co-ordination; its sword-play was unhampered, although there were no breaks in the volley of thorns – its tail seemed to have a life of its own; it shot off projectiles at random.

The beast pressed her backwards, towards the edge of the clearing. Sirius snapped at the monster's heels, and the Manticore kicked at the dog, lowering its head and baring its teeth at Sirius, letting his guard down for the slightest of moments. Artemis smiled slightly; her next blow caught the monster's arm, rending that extremity limp and useless. The Manticore snarled, its face contorting. It raised the sword in its remaining hand – the blade's weight caused its hand to be slightly off balance – and brought it down on Artemis's, shattering the blade. She raised her shield above her to stave off the next blow, fingers scrabbling at her belt for the dirk she kept for such situations. "Orion!" she called hoarsely, casting a frantic glance behind the Manticore.

Several things happened at once then. The Manticore swiped at her shield with its good arm, throwing the now useless safeguard a few meters away, and stabbing downwards with the sword. Sirius leaped in front of her, the sword-blade impaling him, and Orion, notching an arrow into his bow, shot the Manticore multiple times in the back. The monster bellowed in pain, and the hunter dropped his bow, and with a quick, fluid stroke, severed the scorpion's tail. It writhed furiously for a moment, a last thorn erupting from its end, burrowing itself in the hunter's left shoulder. The monster's lip curled, its too-perfect face twisting in pain, and it disintegrated – the only vestiges of its presence the shriveled-up tail and a slight shimmer where it had stood moments before.

Artemis knelt over Sirius shuddering at her feet. The sword-blade protruded upwards from his form, blood welling around its edge. The hunter pulled himself over to them, wrenching the thorn from his shoulder, his left arm dragging uselessly. His right hand came up, closed around the dog's fur, and his face contorted. He pulled Sirius's head onto his lap, lowered his face so that it rested above Sirius's. His fingers closed around the sword-hilt, his face came up, eyes focusing on Artemis's face. Rain soaked his hair, ran down the sharp planes of his face, mingled with the tears brimming in his eyes.

"I'm going to pull this out," he said roughly. "And thou - "

She shook her head slightly. "T'would kill him," she spoke softly, laying her fingers on his back. "I cannot heal this – it is beyond my help." He seemed to shrink under her touch, shoulders slumping inwards, head sinking, and she removed her hand, placing it in her lap.

Sirius whined softly, nudging his head against Orion's arm with a cold, wet nose that was rapidly growing cooler. His deep brown eyes fixed unwaveringly on his master's face, a glimmer of pride shining in their depths. _Did I not do well?_

The hunter's good arm tightened around the dog's neck. "You did great, old boy," he mumbled. He stroked the dog's coat, hooking his fingers around tufts of his fur.

Sirius seemed to smile, the corners of his mouth pulling back over his teeth, and he slackened, the tension leaving his body. His breathing slowed, and Artemis laid a hand on his head, alleviating as much of his pain as she could, and a last breath rattled Sirius's chest, the light in his eyes fading.

For a moment there was no sound apart from the steady thrumming of the rain and their ragged, hoarse breathing. Artemis could hear her heart thrumming in her ears, the blood rushing in her ears. She reached out again, grasping his shoulder and pulling it towards her in a futile attempt to make him turn around. "Orion - "

He half-turned, raising a pair of burning eyes to her face, staring at her mutely. Artemis sighed, biting her lip. "I'm sorry," she said, painfully aware of what little difference her apology made. "If there was anything I could have done - "

"You would have done it," the hunter said quietly. "It was not thy fault." His hand brushed against Sirius's fur; his fingers clenched around a handful of it. "You eased his passing – for that I am grateful."

"There is something more that I can do," Artemis leaned over Sirius, prising Orion's hands from the dog's fur. She bent her head, cupped her hands over the dog's mouth, breathed, "Gine ena me ta asteria.I" A slight silver mist rose from the dog's mouth; this she closed her fingers over. Sirius's form shimmered and evaporated into a cloudy haze. Orion grasped Artemis's arm. "What have -" he rasped.

Artemis ignored him and stood, lifting her hands upwards. Rain pelted her upturned face, each drop a tiny bullet assailing her. She opened her fingers, releasing the mist. "Mporei na sas faros olo kai pio foteinoII," she whispered. Overhead, a new group of stars appeared in the heavens, shining through a haze of rain, the brightest of them blazing at the tip of the dog's chest. The hunter lifted his face to the sky, a tear trickling down his cheek, a slight smile curving his lips. "I thank - "

"It was merited," Artemis cut him off. "Let me look at thy shoulder."

The wound was ugly, a livid red-black perforation several inches deep, the flesh curling back as if it had been seared and had shriveled. The Manticore's venom pulled out from the point of entry in several spidery extensions, garish against the paleness of the skin around them. _Hermes would have loved this_, Artemis thought, grimacing as she placed her hand over the injury, purging the wound of poison; her fingers tingling where they touched bare skin.

"Please – do not heal it completely," the hunter's voice interrupted her train of thought. Artemis lifted an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I want something – a mark – to remind me of what this hunt has cost me."

"You realize that leaves a risk of contamination."

"I am willing to take that possibility."

Artemis nodded. "Very well, then."

She conjured up a basin of warm water and cloth bandages, and lifting a wad of damp fabric, she ensued cleansing and binding the wound. Orion watched the proceedings, a wry look on his face. "You make a good nurse," he commented, smiling slightly.

Artemis concentrated on fastening the end of the dressing, to keep herself from saying anything she would regret later.

"There," she said shortly, "thou will have thy scar."

The hunter smiled, shrugging his shirt back on. "Once there was a girl I loved," he began. Artemis knitted her brow. "Orion - "

He settled against the trunk of a tree, wincing as his shoulder scraped against the bark. "I am prepared to wait, and thou know it."

"Yes," Artemis said under her breath, her scowl growing more pronounced, even as her heart beat faster and her breath caught. "That is what I am afraid of."

_I Be one with the stars._

_II May you be a beacon, shining evermore._

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**A/N: **Before anyone asks, I do not speak/read/write Greek - the above translation/transliteration was done via the internet, so I do not know how accurate it is. If anyone reading this CAN speak Greek, please let me know.

Well - ? Was it anticlimatic? Horrible? Badly done? *audible nail-biting*


	11. Homecoming

**A/N: **A hundred reviews! *dies of delight* I didn't think I'd get that many. Thank you all so very much. Well, this story is drawing to a close - this is the second last chapter. I'm not very pleased with it - it's being uploaded on the spur-of-the-moment ... so please, do point out any mistakes I've made.

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****Chapter Eleven – Homecoming**

In the dream Artemis found herself on the floor of the palace at Mt. Olympus, her face tear-streaked and ashamed, her head bowed, Aphrodite looming over her, lovely features contorted with amusement, shoulders shaking with mirth.

"It seems I have won," Aphrodite chimed between peals of laughter. "You have been brought low, Artemis; you broke thy vow – how – how scandalous!"

Artemis felt a twinge in her lower abdomen, a dull, aching pain, and her hand went involuntarily to rest on her stomach. The movement did not go unnoticed by Aphrodite, whose amusement heightened.

"Oh, don't tell me!" Her silvery, tinkling laughter jarred in Artemis's ears; Artemis' cheeks burned, and her head sank lower, curtains of hair falling forward to obscure her face. Aphrodite bent, stretched out a hand, lifted Artemis's chin with the tip of a perfect finger. "And where is he now?" A lock of burnished hair fell into a round, seemingly innocent blue eye; Aphrodite brushed it away impatiently. "Come, now, Artemis!"

Artemis's tongue felt stiff and heavy; it would not move – she could not speak. Her heart throbbed, and another surge of pain flared through her, accompanied by a wave of an unnamed, unidentified emotion. "I – I do not know," she cried finally, pulling away from Aphrodite, and stumbling backwards. "I do not know!"

She shuddered awake, chest heaving. She was lying in the shadow of a tree, several feet away from the charred remains of the campfire. The hinds that drew her chariot stood tethered to the lowest branch of the tree, and Orion – Orion was leaning against the trunk, head resting against it, lashes brushing his cheeks. Her hand went involuntarily to her stomach. _Just a dream_, she told herself reassuringly. _Thou are a virgin still._

Artemis sat up, brushing back the hair that tumbled into her face, drawing her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her head turned involuntarily to the quiescent figure of the hunter, barely an arm's length away. He sat cross-legged against the tree trunk, mouth slightly open, breathing steadily, a wisp of thick, black hair tumbling over his forehead. He looked younger in sleep, Artemis decided, younger and wearier. His hand rested on his knee; the fingers of the other clutched tightly around the hilt of his dagger. Artemis suppressed a strong desire to reach out and uncurl his fingers, and perhaps brush back the hair falling into his eyes. She clasped her hands in her lap and turned her face away, looking up, at the sky, and the slight crescent moon burning intensely silver, struggling to stay afloat amidst a wave of fast-approaching storm clouds. Her head turned involuntarily back to the hunter, and, as if feeling the weight of her gaze, Orion stirred, and his eyes flickered open.

"Is anything amiss?" he mumbled sleepily, and his knuckles whitened as his fingers tightened around the dagger-hilt.

Artemis smiled. "No," she said softly. "Sleep." She reached out, prying the dagger loose from his grip.

"You won't stab me in my sleep?" he inquired, already half gone, relinquishing the dagger to her.

"After all we've been through?" Artemis laughed quietly. "I would have left thee at the mercies of the Manticore, if I wished thee dead."

"Do thou wish me dead?" It was uttered so quietly she'd had to lean in to hear it, and she looked up at him, a jolt of shock running through her.

"No, Orion," she said. "No, I do not. Whatever gave thee that idea?"

"Just seeking confirmation." He smiled at her, a sweet tired smile that tugged at her heartstrings - and Artemis began to straighten slowly, resisting the impulse to lean forward and press her lips to his – she would regret that later. Instead she smiled back, tucking the dagger into her own belt. "Sleep," she said again.

"Will thou surrender me to Somnus so quickly?" and Artemis wondered how he could sound so drained and yet so teasing at one and the same time. "I do not surrender," she said, twisting her hands in her lap to cease their restless motion. "It is thou who go."

There was no answer, and Artemis, smiling faintly, realized he had succumbed.

Great masses of clouds broiled over the horizon, gray-blue, brooding, and ominous. Distant thunder reverberated in the distance; a fork of lightning momentarily slit the skies. Artemis gathered their equipment swiftly, sending it to the bottom of the chariot with a snap of her fingers. The wind began to pick up, moaning portentously, snatching at her hair and their cloaks and blanching their faces. The deer pawed the ground nervously, tossing their heads, and Artemis reached out with her mind, calming them with her influence. The hunter's fingers fumbled as he secured the deer to the chariot, their tips bloodless. "Blast this wind," he cursed, eyes narrowed against the gale's onslaught. "Can thou not do anything about it?"

Artemis made her way over to the chariot, skirts whipping about her legs. "Do thou think I have not tried?" she asked. "It is too strong. And we are yet removed from Olympus's power. Perhaps if we were closer - " A clap of thunder drowned out the next words. Despite the dampness in the air, and the thunder, and the smell of moist earth and fierce wind, the clouds refused to break. They obscured the sky completely, blocking out the sun's face, plunging the day into night – lightless, dark, sinister.

Artemis stepped into the chariot, gesturing vaguely for the hunter to sit across from her, and the chariot was lifted upwards, into the heavens. The Manticore's tail lay dry and shriveled at her feet, a token of their victory against the monster. Usually, now was the time that Artemis's heart filled exultantly – when at last the pursuit was over, the trophy within her grasp, and she was returning, victorious, to Mt. Olympus. At the moment, however, she did not feel the least bit exultant, or triumphant – merely drained, exhausted … sapped of energy. And she hadn't the slightest idea why – and that was what bothered her. She never felt this way … she was a goddess, for Zeus's sake!

A sudden movement shook her out of her reverie – Orion had stooped and lifted the Manticore's tail from the chariot floor. "It is positively repulsive," he noted, and Artemis stifled a laugh. "We would have done better with its head."

Artemis cast a glance over the desiccated extremity. "I dare say Hephaestus will find it fascinating. The method of propulsion itself would drive him into a cerebral frenzy."

"Will he perchance adapt it into a weapon, of some sort?"

Artemis shrugged. "Perhaps. I am in no position to know – why do thou not ask Poseidon? He is on far better terms with Hephaestus than any of us."

The hunter raised an eyebrow. "And what have thou done to arouse his displeasure?" Artemis knitted her brows. "Zeus accepted us – Apollo, and me – while Hera cast Hephaestus off Olympus for fear of Zeus's displeasure at the child's appearance. He has since returned – his skill can not be disputed – but he feels slighted." She grimaced wryly, fingers reaching inadvertently for the comforting curve of her bow. "Well," she said after a pause, gazing intently at the cloud mass that enshrouded them, "I certainly hope the storm holds long enough for us to return." Her tone, falsely cheery, conveyed that there was to be no further conversation.

_Two Days Later – Olympus, Evening_

The wind had prolonged the voyage, Artemis thought resentfully as the chariot came to rest in the courtyard of the palace – had made a normally pleasant experience into a disagreeable one. Disagreeable because she had never had to exercise so much control. Control had always come easily to Artemis – control, discipline, restraint – it was a mantra that she had oft repeated. _It is what makes me different – my self-possession._ And it had become second nature – hardly ever tried – until the hunter had stepped into her carefully managed world and – with no apparent effort – brought it crashing about her.

She stepped out of the chariot, grasping the tail in one hand, her bow in the other, casting a glance up at the dour, swollen sky. The clouds had yet to break – the storm still held – and the gale had settled into a brisk wind, cold, but not as injurious as it had been; Zeus's power kept the full force of it away. She looked up at the palace, and noticed, her face contorting in annoyance, that lights burned in every window, and in between gusts of wind, the sound of ringing, strident music.

"Are we expected?" Orion asked, eyebrows contracting in bafflement. Artemis discerned, with a sense of growing irritation directed mainly at herself, that he looked positively endearing.

"It is Apollo's doing. Trust him to do that which irritates me."

It was at that moment that the doors opened, with a tremendous grating noise, and the said deity of prophecy appeared on the steps, a lady on his arm. "Artemis," Apollo exclaimed, striding over to them. "Not a moment too soon!"

"Speak of a fiend," Artemis murmured. Aloud, she said, "What is this, Apollo?"

"A celebration, little sister," Apollo grinned broadly. "A merry-making, a festivity, a partis. Operor vos agnosco_1_?"

"Apollo?" Artemis raised an eyebrow at him.

"'Tis Latin, my dear."

"You speak a barbarian tongue."

Apollo laughed. "One day, Artemis, that 'barbarian tongue' will be spoken by the rulers of an empire. But come, Father is expecting thee. Make haste, Opis," this was directed at his companion, who had remained behind him, still and inconspicuous.

"Opis?" Artemis gestured for her lieutenant to approach. "Did I not leave thee on Crete?"

"Oh, come now, little sister," Apollo chided. "I took the liberty of bringing Opis and the rest of thy Huntresses away from Crete … once I was sure of thy return. I've saved thee a trip – be grateful!" And seizing Opis by the arm he turned, ascending the stairs.

"Apollo – I am in no state to - " Artemis began, lifting her skirts and stepping after him.

"I am certain thou can remedy that in no time, Artemis," Apollo gave her a look over his shoulder, eyebrows lifted. Artemis stared at his retreating figure until he disappeared into the entrance hall. She turned then, her eyes searching the darkened courtyard. "Orion?" she called. "Where are thou?"

The hunter stepped away from the chariot, lips twitching in bemusement. "Yes, milady?"

"Come," she commanded, and followed Apollo inside.

"Looking for someone?" The voice came at Artemis's shoulder – high, musical, melodic. Aphrodite. Artemis twisted, coming face to face with the other woman. Aphrodite's blue eyes twinkled knowingly, sparkling rather like the diamonds she wore at her throat. Her chiton was a soft, pale blue; her hair cascaded down her back like a river of molten gold.

"No," Artemis said, rather too quickly. Aphrodite laughed.

"I believe thee not."

"Would you not rather hear how Zeus did receive the proof of my success?"

"As he usually does," Aphrodite gestured with a slender hand. "'Well done, daughter … Dionysus – pass that wine, will thou?'" Artemis glared at her. Aphrodite affected ignorance. "You know very well that is not what I want to hear. Come now – confess. You are dressed in thy best … thy hair – which normally resembles a rat's nest – looks unusually lovely … and thou scan the crowd as though thou were looking for someone … I usually expect to see thee sitting in some corner staring into a cup of wine, Artemis," Aphrodite lowered her voice to a confiding whisper, "not - "

"Aphrodite, for the love of Zeus," Artemis cut her off irritably, "You - "

"He is over there," Aphrodite said, an odd, pitying note in her voice, pointing to where Orion stood, leaning against a wall. "Perhaps if thou ask nicely -"

Artemis did not wait for her to complete the sentence; she turned and marched off, making for the doors, bile rising in her throat and tears coming to her eyes.

The wind had died down to a light breeze; overhead, the sky was gray, the clouds engorged, drifting lazily. She leant against the courtyard wall, closing her eyes, blinking back the tears that insisted on gathering behind her lids. Sinking to the ground, she lifted her hands to her hair, and proceeded to systematically ruin her chignon. It came apart around her face, hair gleaming auburn against the green of her dress. Laughter and intermingled music drifted from within the hall, clearly audible now that there was no gale to steal it away.

_You imbecile_, Artemis thought, dashing away the salt-tears trickling down her cheeks. _This is thy own fault. If thou had kept thy wits about thee …_

Fingers encircled her wrists; she was forced to stand and enclosed within familiar, reassuring arms. "Don't put thy hair up again," he said quietly, his breath hot on her ear, "I like it better this way."

Artemis raised her eyes to his face. "Is that so?"

His fingers brushed a lock away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Yes."

Artemis pulled away, stepping backward. "You are just saying that."

He crossed his arms over his chest, face masklike. "What thou wish to think is thy choice." He moved back, towards the stairs, and Artemis darted forward, seizing him by the arm.

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "You must think me wretched."

The hunter looked down at her. Shook his head. Smiled, gray eyes radiant. "No."

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1_. Do you understand._

**A/N:** Well? *waits with bated breath* I hope it wasn't cheesy, or horrible, or terribly written. Do tell me what you think - click that lovely, lovely button. I'll be more inclined to post the last chapter if you review *demanding*.


	12. The Hunter

**A/N:** Well, here it is. I'm awfully sorry for making you all wait for so long ... but I'd had tests, loads of HW and awful writer's block, so once again, you owe Nicola for not only pushing me to write this chapter, but for reading it over for me on extremely short notice. So yes, this is dedicated to you, Nicola ... and to all of you very faithful readers who send me such wonderful reviews. I never expected to have this so well-recieved, so I owe you all ... and thank you ... especially Nicola, Sa Rart, dnrl and anyone else who has reviewed regularly. Thank you.

The poem in the beginning of this chapter is from a poet on , Jeff Pitt, - who goes by the penname ~Zaphod-Beeblebrox58 ... and who very kindly allowed me to use his poem as an opener. Do check out the rest of his work, it's amazing. And if I keep rambling, this author's note will be longer then the chapter. So here goes, and tell me what you think!

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**Chapter Twelve – The Hunter**

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It was not for want of love  
Love was there, always theirs  
His and hers and the others

It was the boundary lines  
That slid and hid  
And the eyes and lies that smother

She weeps with the tears that she never shed  
And mourns alone, Orion is dead

Wicked is the sinful heart  
That forever waits to take  
And warms himself on Iago's fire

For the angel of light  
Fell to his hell  
And warms himself in hate and desire

She will never sing that forbidden song  
No matter now, Orion is gone

She will lift him to the stars  
With blood and sand on her hands  
A memorial to see and dread

For by her love, his heart was bled  
And by her hand Orion is dead.

**Orion Is Dead**

**Jeff Pitt**

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There was no moon that night. The clouds overhead had thickened, and darkened, and the wind had picked up again, swelling into a hurricane-like tempest. Distant claps of thunder echoed in the distance, and lightning flashed sporadically, illuminating a dull, brooding sky. Artemis lay on her side, listening to the howling of the wind and the crackling of the fire. Another indistinct rumble resounded through the room, and Artemis slipped out from beneath the covers, padding on bare feet towards the window and parting the drapes. There was no movement in the courtyard; beyond, the olive trees in the orchard swayed violently, bent almost double. She rested her elbows on the sill, her chin in her hands, watching the slim trunks' passionate dance. Lightning flashed once more, and the clouds broke at last, letting forth a torrent of heavy, sheeting rain. Dawn. The darkest part of the night.

The scream pierced the drumming of the raindrops and the rumbling of the thunder, cut through the howling of the wind. Artemis started, and tugging a himation over her chiton, pulled the door open and stepped out into the corridor. The scream sounded again, followed by a series of ear-splitting shrieks. Several doors along the hall flew open; Apollo stepped out of one of the rooms, running weary fingers through tousled blonde hair – Hermes, fully dressed, a quill clutched in ink-spattered hands – Aphrodite, clinging to Ares's arm, an expression of mingled shock and horror on her face – Zeus, looking irritable; behind him, Hera wore a look of poorly-disguised relief – Athena – Demeter – Dionysus – Poseidon – and Hephaestus (his gaze immediately going towards his wife and the god of war; his eyebrows contracted furiously and his teeth clenched).

"What seems to be the matter?" Athena inquired, eyes sweeping the corridor, and settling on Artemis, who was already at the head of the stairs. "I do not know, yet," Artemis told her, "Why do you not betake yourselves to bed? I will sort this out." A feeling of icy numbness had settled in the pit of her stomach; she had heard that scream before.

"Yes, do so," Zeus said, a look of relief washing over his face, and Artemis started down the staircase, fingers clutching the fabric of her skirts. The sound of another pair of feet made her turn; she saw Apollo several steps above her, carrying his bow and hers. He tossed Artemis's bow to her, with a "You might thank me for that," and swinging his over his shoulder, pushed past her, preceding her to the bottom of the staircase.

She stumbled over the last step; she reached automatically for the banister, steadying herself. Her heart beat erratically in her chest – her breathing quickened, and blood pounded in her ears. Rain continued to fall, hammering on the rooftop, and a fork of lightning illuminated the entrance hall, revealing two figures by the window.

Time seemed to slow then.

Artemis faltered, came to a halt. Her eyes widened, and her bow clattered to the ground, hands coming up to her mouth. She was dimly aware of Apollo walking swiftly forward, grasping one of the figures by the arm and pulling them back, towards her. The other remained standing by the window, leaning heavily on the sill.

"As if in a dream." The words echoed hollowly in her mind – rising unbidden from the murky depths of forgotten memory.

_Two girls sitting on the steps of the Temple of Artemis … with quivers of silver arrows slung over their backs and a pair of bows at their feet … the far-away look in the eyes of the older of the two … and the expression of longing in those of the younger. "- and I didn't realize at first he'd been lying to me all along … it was as if in a dream …" _

_And the younger girl, her lieutenant's circlet gleaming in the sunlight, leaned forward with a blaze of fiery passion in her eyes, "You are so fortunate … at least thou experienced it …"_

_They'd seen her then, and leapt up respectfully, and bowed, but she had fixed her gaze on the younger huntress's face._

"_You have been spared a bitter experience," she had said, quietly. "Should thou not be grateful?"_

_And bowing her head, the huntress had said, "Oh! I am grateful, I am!"_

Artemis's hands clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, her breathing irregular. Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the flagstones between lulls in the storm, and her vision blurred, a mist of tears rising up and coating her irids. She was dimly aware of reaching the window, of stepping up to the figure leaning against the sill. Her eyes cleared, and suddenly every little detail was brought into sharp focus, like looking at oneself in a mirror that has just been scoured.

His face was deathly pale; ashen, and his eyes, large and frightened, were like pools of mercury, the pupils dilated, the black halo of is lashes casting dark shadows on bloodless cheeks.

His shirt hung off one shoulder, and the only color in his face was the red of three long scars, newly made, garishly crimson, running down his left cheek. Only vaguely aware of the movement – it was, for the most part, involuntary – Artemis lifted her hand. Part of her mind inquired just what she was going to do – caress his cheek? – perhaps run her fingers over the scars, rest her head on his shoulder? Her hand twitched – her fingers connected with his face, the sound echoing throughout the hall. Blood trickled down his cheek, stained her fingers. _I love you._

The screaming started again then, from behind them, the same ear-splitting shriek that had brought her down. The 'Let go of me," of a hysterical woman – the sound of feet on flagstone – clutching hands encircling her knees …

"'Twasn't of my device, Lady Artemis," Opis wailed, her voice breaking on the last word, "'Twas him – I swear it – I was unaware – I – he was going to rape me, Lady Artemis - "

Artemis bent, loosened her grip around her knees and turned. Opis rocked back and forth on her heels, her lips trembling and tears streaming down her cheeks in a seemingly never-ending torrent. Her hair, dark with tears and sweat, was plastered to her face, and her hands, which Artemis had loosed, were clutched, claw-like, in her lap, the fingers writhing as though they had a life of their own.

Through the haze of agony and anger and betrayal, a sense of revulsion slowly crept up Artemis's throat. But it was quickly overpowered by a stronger sense of weariness and pain – pain so deep it wore chasms in her heart. "Go," her voice was strangled. "I release thee – go."

Apollo grasped her by the shoulder and led her to the door; Opis walked like one intoxicated, her hair a thatch of brown-blackness around her head. Artemis followed her with her eyes, her knees threatening to collapse, lips trembling.

The door clanged shut behind Apollo, and Artemis turned, a lump constricting her throat – rising, and swelling, so that speech was impossible … the words she so yearned to say would not – could not – be said. Her eyes rose to his face, to the shimmering pools of mercury that were his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them … to feel his arms close around her … to know that she was loved … and wanted … by him, if no one else.

"Tell me it wasn't true," she begged finally, hand half-outstretched, shoulders shaking convulsively. "Tell me she -"

The hunter's eyes did not leave her face.

"Lied?" he asked quietly. "And thou will believe whatever I tell thee?"

Her eyes burnt. _No_, she thought. _No, I will not, because thou will lie like they all lie._

"Artemis." Apollo's voice sounded behind her, and she turned her head slightly, to look up into her brother's face. He placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezed it lightly and held up her bow. She shook her head mutely, frantically. Apollo's eyes blazed. "You must."

Artemis's fingers clasped the curve of the weapon, of their own free will; accepted the quiver he handed her. Apollo stepped beyond her, and taking hold of the hunter, conducted him towards the door. Orion looked back at Artemis, expression unfathomable. "You've done enough to my sister, _hero_," Apollo snarled, his fingers tightening their grip. "You are no longer permitted to look upon her!"

She was left standing by the window, holding her bow as if to let it go was to end her life.

***

The rush of the downpour increased tenfold as she stepped out into the courtyard. She was soaked through in moments; her skirts clinging to her legs and her hair plastering itself to her face. Rainwater trickled down her face, running into her mouth, making her shiver. She walked dazedly after the blurry figures of Orion and Apollo, the fabric of her chiton catching in the bushes alongside the path down the mountain.

The rain had let up a little when Apollo stopped at the edge of a precipice overlooking the valley of pines beneath Mt. Olympus. A large fir grew just before the mountain fell away; it was to this behemoth Apollo proceed to secure the hunter, who stood immobile, his torn shirt wet to the skin, his dark hair cascading over his forehead. Artemis wished he would beg – plead for his life – declare his innocence – and not stand, unmoving, while her brother lashed ropes around his torso. If he groveled – she might perhaps dredge up some vestiges of her former loathing for him – but when he refused to make a spectacle of himself – refused to acknowledge Apollo's command to stop gazing at her – his own expression calm and dignified and accepting, her heart throbbed painfully. _I love you._

Her hands shook as she removed an arrow from her quiver. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her as she bent and placed the quiver on the wet ground. The force of the storm had lessened – it was drizzling now.

She straightened, fingers tremblingly stringing the bow. The arrow she notched carefully, eyes downcast – and burning, burning like they were being held over the fires of Tartarus.

He stood motionlessly, his chest rising and falling with increasing rapidity. She closed her eyes briefly, raised her bow, and attempted to aim, and found her vision blurring as a torrent of tears broke suddenly forth, and she gasped, white hot pain searing her breast.

She would not miss. She could not. She had never missed in her life … and yet, she wished she could, now – miss, and have the arrow fly wide. Her fingers pulled back the bowstring. The arrow flew.

He cried out – once – as it hit him, over the chest, and she found she could not stop. Two more arrows flew in rapid succession and he doubled over, gasping, and she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks, shoulders heaving. "Calliste," she heard him say, his voice breaking, "Stop – stop -" He slid to the ground, fingers grasping the fletching of the arrow that had caught him in the heart. _I love you._

She turned to move away, lifting her hand to her face to wipe away the tears flowing down her face – and her fingers caught in the chain around her neck. It broke – and the locket burst open, and a single, creamy pearl rolled onto the wet grass. Whole.

_Whole. She is standing, once again, on the deck of the Mount Olympus, looking down at a lustrous pearl gleaming in the palm of her hand, with the wind in her hair and the token of his love around her neck. His voice echoes faintly, like the ghost of a long-forgotten memory ."The pearl – it will break if I should prove false …" Will break. But is whole._

Artemis screamed once, tears gushing forward with renewed force, and grabbing for the pearl, she stumbled over to the hunter, falling to her knees by his side.

"Orion – Orion," she grasped him by the shoulders, shook him violently, her voice trembling and breaking by degrees. Severing the ropes, she bent forward and pressed her forehead to his, her eyes tightly closed. She felt his fingers stroke her cheek – and she was drawn into his embrace and held more closely than she had ever been held before. Her eyes flickered open – focused on his gray ones, and she grasped his collar so tightly her knuckles whitened.

She felt his hand grasp the back of her neck and pull her towards him; he pressed his lips to her forehead – and a sob escaped Artemis. She took his face in her hands – his skin was icy against her burning fingertips, and leaning forward, kissed his mouth. His breath was warm against her skin; he smelt of wildflowers and tasted of blood and honey and a reminder that she could not have him.

"I knew I would die by thy hand," Orion's voice was hoarse.

Artemis took a shuddering breath. She shook her head mutely. The hunter smiled crookedly. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth, and his chest heaved. A spasm of pain flickered across his face, his eyes moistened. She lifted a hand – wiped the blood from his face, pushed the hair back off his forehead, dried his tears, pressed her cheek to his head, rocked him gently back and forth. "Shh," she whispered. "Shh." Raindrops pelted her back, and over the edge of the valley, the first ray of sunlight faded the darkness.

His breathing slowed … his trembling lessened. His chest shuddered with each breath, and Artemis held him tighter, her own breathing erratic. He leaned his head back against the tree's trunk, looking up at her. Another flare of pain seared through her heart.

"My lady," Orion lifted her hand to his lips, kissed her fingertips.

Artemis smiled through a mist of tears.

"Will thou do something for me?"

"Speak, and I will grant it."

"Place me above with the stars, as thou did with Sirius -" he broke off in a fit of coughing.

"I will."

He looked up at the sky for a moment, at the rain that was still falling gently to earth.

"I am leaving thee," he told her smiling, "and thou are a virgin still."

"If I could keep thee alive," she answered fiercely, "I would care not."

"You should care." Orion's eyelids flickered. "You should care."

Artemis leaned forward, a sense of overwhelming panic threatening to engulf her.

"Orion – I – I want you to know that – I love thee -"

The hunter looked up at her, gray eyes shining. The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smile. "As I love thee."

His hand, grasping Artemis's, slackened, and his eyes flickered shut for the last time.

_Present_

"_My lady Artemis?" Zoe's voice penetrated Artemis's reverie. She looked up at the huntress, dashing the tears away from her eyes with trembling fingers._

"_Yes, Zoe?"_

_The huntress did not answer, merely seated herself next to her lady and looked up at the stars, where Orion's belt flashed brighter than all of the other stars in the sky._

"_He called me Calliste," Artemis murmured at last. "The Hunter."_

_Zoe turned her solemn gaze on Artemis. "Was it very long ago, My lady?"_

"_No." Artemis said. "It was three years previously … in winter …"_

Fin.

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**A/N:** I think I'll stick to oneshots from now on ... but what think you? Hit that lovely, lovely button, and tell me what you think. You'll brighten a depressed teen's sunless days (gosh, I sound emo) ... and I'll love you forever. Cookie, anyone?


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